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V    LITCHFIELD 


LIBRARY 


SAN  DiEC 


' 


ONLY   AN    INCIDENT 


G.   P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW   YORK  :    27    &    29   WEST    23D    STREET 
LONDON  :    25    HENRIETTA    STREET,    COVENT    GARDEN 

I883 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
GRACE  DENIO  LITCHFIELD 


Press  of 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York 


TO 


GRACE    HILL    AND    EDWIN    C.    LITCHFIELD. 


TO  HER  FOR  WHOSE  DEAR  SAKE  THE  STORY  WAS  PENNED,  ALTHOUGH  HER  EYES  MA' 

NEVER  REST  UPON  ITS  PAGES,  AND  TO    HIM   WHOSE  TENDER   WATCH    OVER 

ITS  GROWTH   HAS  BEEN    ITS  VITAL  INSPIRATION, — TO  THE  TWO 

WHO  ARE  BUT  ONE  FOREVER  IN  THE  HEART  OF  THEIR 

DAUGHTER,    THIS    LITTLE     FIRST   BOOK  IS 

MOST  LOVINGLY  INSCRIBED. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. JOPPA  ...  .  I 

* 

II. — PHEBE      ...  .  13 

III. — GERALD  ...  -3° 

iv. — MRS.  UPJOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT    ...       50 
v. — FRIENDS 79 

VI. — THE    PICNIC 90 

VII. — TRIED    AS   BY    FIRE 115 

VIII. — GERALD    OBEYS   ORDERS  .  .  .  .127 

IX. JOPPA'S    MINISTRATIONS    TO    THE    SICK    .  .        136 

X. — AN    APOLOGY    AND    ITS   CONSEQUENCES  .       150 

xi. — "MY  SON  DICK"    .         .        .        .        .        .170 

XII.— WHY    DO    SUMMER    ROSES    FADE  ?      .  .  .       189 

XIII. JOPPA'S    TRIAL  .  ....       198 

xiv. —  PHEBE'S  GOOD-BY 218 

XV. — ONLY    AN    INCIDENT 223 

iii 


ONLY  AN   INCIDENT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JOPPA. 

JOPPA  was  the  very  centre  of  all  things. 
That  was  the  opening  clause  in  the  creed 
of  every  well-educated  and  right-thinking 
Joppite.  Geographically,  however,  it  was  not 
the  centre  of  any  thing,  being  considerably  off 
from  the  great  lines  of  railway  travel,  but  pos 
sessing  two  little  independent  branch  roads  of 
its  own,  that  connected  it  with  all  the  world,  or 
rather  that  connected  all  the  world  with  it.  For 
though  there  were  larger  places  than  Joppa  even 
in  the  county  in  which  it  condescended  to  find 
itself,  and  though  New  York,  and  Philadelphia, 
and  even  Boston,  were  undeniably  larger,  as 
its  inhabitants  reluctantly  admitted  when  hard 
pressed,  yet  they  were  unanimous  in  agree 
ing,  nevertheless,  that  the  sun  rose  and  set 


2  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

wholly  and  entirely  for  the  benefit  of  their  one 
little  aristocratic  community. 

Yes  ;  the  world  was  created  for  Joppa,  that 
the  Joppites  might  live,  move,  and  have  their 
being  with  as  much  convenience  and  as  little 
trouble  as  possible.  Bethany,  a  considerable 
town  near  by,  was  built  to  be  its  shopping  em 
porium  ;  Galilee,  a  little  farther  off,  to  accom 
modate  its  art  needs  ;  Morocco,  a  more  consid 
erable  town  still  farther  off,  to  be  the  birthplace 
of  those  ancestors  who  were  so  unfortunate  as 
to  come  into  the  world  before  there  was  any 
Joppa  to  be  born  in.  Even  New  York  was 
erected  mainly  to  furnish  it  with  a  place  of  com 
fortable  resort  once  a  year,  when  it  transplanted 
itself  there  bodily  in  a  clan,  consoling  itself 
for  its  temporary  aberration  of  body  by  visiting 
exclusively  and  diligently  back  and  forth  among 
its  own  people,  and  conforming  life  in  all  par 
ticulars  as  far  as  possible  to  home  rules,  still 
doing  when  in  New  York,  not  as  the  New 
Yorkers  but  as  the  Joppites  did,  and  never  for 
a  moment  abandoning  its  proud  position  as  the 
one  only  place  in  the  world  worth  living  in. 
,  There  certainly  was  much  to  say  in  favor  of 


JOPPA.  3 

Joppa.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  remarkably 
salubrious.  Its  inhabitants  died  only  of  old  age, 
—seldom  even  of  that, — or  of  diseases  con 
tracted  wholly  in  other  localities.  Measles  had 
indeed  been  known  to  break  out  there  once  in 
the  sacred  person  of  the  President  of  the  village, 
but  had  been  promptly  suppressed ;  besides,  it 
was  universally  conceded  that  being  in  his  sec 
ond  childhood  he  should  be  considered  liable. 
The  last  epidemic  of  small-pox  even  had  swept 
by  them  harmless.  Only  two  old  and  extremely 
ugly  women  took  it,  whereas  Bethany  and  Up 
per  Jordan  were  decimated.  So  Joppa  was  de 
cidedly  healthy,  for  one  thing.  For  another,  it 
was  moral.  There  had  not  been  a  murder  heard 
of  in  ever  so  long,  or  a  forgery,  and  the  last  mid 
night  burglar  was  such  a  nice,  simple  fellow  that 
he  did  not  know  real  silver  when  he  saw  it,  and 
ran  off  with  the  plated  ware  instead.  And  Joppa 
was  not  only  moral,  but  religious  ;  went  to 
church  no  end  of  times  on  Sundays,  and  kept  as 
many  of  the  commandments  as  it  conveniently 
could.  It  had  four  churches  :  one  Methodist, 
frequented  exclusively  by  the  plebeians ;  one 
Baptist,  of  a  mixed  congregation  ;  one  Presby- 


4  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

terian,  where  three  fourths  of  the  best  people 
went ;  and  one  Episcopal,  which  the  best 
quarter  of  the  best  people  attended,  and  which 
among  the  Presbyterians  was  popularly  sup 
posed  to  be,  if  not  exactly  the  entrance  to  the 
infernal  regions,  yet  certainly  only  one  short 
step  removed  from  it.  And  added  to  all  these 
good  traits,  Joppa  was  a  beautiful  place.  There 
were  a  few  common,  ugly  little  houses  in  it,  of 
course,  but  they  were  all  tucked  away  out  of 
sight  at  one  end,  constituting  what  was  known 
as  "  the  village,"  while  the  real  Joppa  meant  in 
the  thoughts  of  the  inhabitants  only  the  West 
End  so  to  speak,  where  was  a  series  of  pretty 
villas  and  commodious  mansions  running  along 
a  broad,  handsome  street,  and  stretching  for 
quite  a  distance  along  the  border  of  the  lake. 
For,  oh !  best  of  all,  Joppa  had  a  lake.  To  speak 
of  Joppa  in  the  presence  of  a  Joppite,  and  not  in 
the  same  breath  to  mention  the  lake  with  an 
appreciative  adjective,  was  to  make  as  irrevo 
cable  a  mistake  as  to  be  in  conversation  with  a 
poet  and  forget  to  quote  from  his  latest  poem  ; 
for  next  to  their  wives,  their  dinners,  and  their 
ease,  the  Joppites  loved  their  beautiful  little  lake. 


JOPPA.  5 

And  they  had  cause  thus  to  love  it,  for  apart 
from  its  exquisite  charm  as  the  main  feature  of 
their  landscape,  it  gave  them  a  substantial 
reason  for  existence.  What  could  they  have 
done  with  their  dolce  far  niente  lives,  but  for 
the  fishing  and  rowing  and  sailing  and  bathing 
and  sliding  and  skating  which  it  afforded  them 
in  turn  ?  It  was  all  they  had  to  keep  them 
from  settling  down  into  a  Rip  Van  Winkle 
sleep,  this  dear  little  restless  lake,  that  coaxed 
them  out  of  their  land-torpor,  and  forced  them 
occasionally  to  lend  a  manly  hand  to  a  manly 
pursuit.  For  there  was  this  distinguishing  pe 
culiarity  about  Joppa,  that  no  one  in  it  seemed 
to  need  to  work,  or  to  have  any  manner  of 
business  whatever.  Its  society,  outside  of  the 
village,  was  formed  wholly  of  cultivated,  re 
fined,  wealthy  people,  who  had  nothing  in  the 
world  to  do,  but  idly  to  eat  and  drink  up  the 
riches  of  the  previous  generation.  It  is  a  widely 
admitted  truth,  that  one  generation  always 
gathers  for  another,  never  for  itself,  and  that 
the  generation  which  is  thus  generously  gath 
ered  for,  is  invariably  found  willing  to  sacrifice 
without  a  murmur  any  latent  duty  to  harvest 


0  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

on  its  own  account,  consenting  to  live  out  its 
life  softly  upon  the  hard-earned  savings  of  its 
predecessors,  without  regard  to  posterity,  and 
calling  itself  "  gentlemen  "  where  its  fathers 
were  content  to  be  known  as  "  men." 

So  this  was  Joppa,  a  place  mighty  in  its  own 
conceit,  and  high  too  in  the  estimate  of  others, 
to  whom  it  was  becoming  known  as  the  gay 
est  and  the  prettiest  of  all  dear  little  summer 
resorts  ;  and  thither  strangers  were  beginning 
to  flock  in  considerable  numbers  each  year, 
made  warmly  welcome  by  the  Joppites  as  an 
occasion  for  breaking  out  into  an  unending 
round  of  parties  and  picnics  and  dinners  and 
lunches  and  teas,  and  even  breakfasts  when 
there  was  not  room  to  crowd  in  any  thing  else. 
The  summer  was  one  continual  whirl  from  be 
ginning  to  end.  There  were  visitors  and  visits  ; 
there  was  giving  and  receiving  ;  there  were 
flirtations  and  rumors  of  flirtations  ;  there  was 
every  thing  the  human  heart  could  desire  in  the 
way  of  friendly  hospitality  and  liveliest  enter 
tainment.  Saratoga  might  be  well  enough, 
and  Newport  would  do  in  its  way  ;  but  for 
solid  perfection,  said  the  Joppites,  there  was 
no  place  in  the  world  quite  like  Joppa. 


JOPPA.  7 

But  unknown  to  itself,  Joppa  nursed  one 
apostate  in  its  midst,  one  unavowed  but  be 
nighted  little  heretic,  who  so  far  from  sharing 
these  sentiments  and  offering  up  nightly  thanks 
giving  that  despite  her  great  unworthiness  she 
had  been  suffered  to  be  born  in  Joppa,  made 
it  one  of  her  most  fervent  and  reiterated  peti 
tions  that  she  might  not  always  have  to  live 
there  ;  that  some  time,  if  she  were  very  good  and 
very  patient,  it  might  be  granted  her  to  go.  She 
was  so  weary  of  it  all  :  of  the  busy  idleness  and 
the  idle  business,  of  the  unthinking  gayety  and 
the  gay  thoughtlessness,  and  of  the  nothingness 
that  made  up  its  all.  She  wanted,  she  did  not 
exactly  know  what,  only  something  different; 
and  to  go,  she  did  not  quite  know  where,  only 
somewhere  else.  But  she  had  been  born  in 
Joppa,  (quite  without  her  permission,)  and  in 
Joppa  she  had  lived  for  all  of  twenty-four 
healthful,  tranquil,  uneventful  years,  spending 
semi-occasional  winters  in  New  York,  and,  un 
like  all  other  Joppites,  returning  always  more 
and  more  discontented  with  her  native  place. 
Who  could  ever  have  expected  such  treason  in 
the  heart  of  dear  little  Phebe  Lane  ?  Of 


8  ONL  Y  AN"  INCIDENT. 

course  it  would  not  have  mattered  much  had  it 
been  suspected,  since  it  was  only  Phebe  Lane 
after  all  who  entertained  it, — little  Phebe  Lane, 
whose  ancestors,  though  good  and  well-born 
enough,  did  not  hail  from  Morocco,  and  who  lived, 
not  in  the  West  End  proper,  but  only  on  the 
borders  of  it,  in  a  street  where  one  could  not  get 
so  much  as  a  side  peep  at  the  lake.  It  was  not 
a  pretty  house  either  where  she  lived.  It  was 
square  and  clumsy  and  without  any  originality, 
and,  moreover,  faced  plump  on  the  street,  so 
that  one  could  look  right  into  its  parlor  and 
sitting-room  windows  as  one  strolled  along  the 
wooden  sidewalks.  And  people  were  in  the 
habit  of  looking  in  that  way  a  good  deal. 
Nothing  was  ever  going  on  in  there  that  could 
not  bear  this  sudden  outside  inspection,  and 
it  was  the  shortest  way  to  call  Phebe  when  she 
was  wanted  for  any  thing  of  a  sudden, — to  bear 
a  fourth  hand  at  whist,  or  to  stone  raisins  for 
Mrs.  Adams  the  day  before  her  luncheon,  or  to 
run  on  an  errand  down  town  for  some  lazy 
body  who  preferred  other  people's  legs  to  her 
own  for  locomotion,  or  to  relieve  some  wearied 
host  in  the  entertainment  of  his  dull  guest,  or  to 


JOPPA.  9 

help  in  some  way  or  other,  here,  there,  and 
yonder.  She  was  just  the  one  to  be  called 
upon,  of  course,  for  she  was  just  the  one  who 
was  always  on  hand,  and  always  ready  to  go. 
She  never  had  any  thing  to  keep  her  at  home. 
Her  father  had  long  been  dead,  and  she  lived 
alone  with  her  step-mother  and  step-aunt  in 
the  house  which  was  left  her  by  her  mother, 
but  in  which  the  present  Mrs.  Lane  still  ruled 
absolute,  as  she  did  when  she  first  came  into  it 
in  Phebe's  childish  days.  Mrs.  Lane  was  strong 
and  energetic  and  commonplace  ;  and  she  ran 
the  little  house  from  garret  to  cellar  with  a 
thoroughness  that  left  Phebe  no  part  whatever 
to  take  in  it,  while  the  remainder  of  her  energy 
she  devoted  to  nursing  her  invalid  sister,  Miss 
Lydia,  a  little  weak,  complaining  creature,  who 
had  had  not  only  every  ill  that  flesh  is  heir  to, 
but  a  great  many  ills  besides  that  she  was  firmly 
persuaded  no  other  flesh  had  ever  inherited, 
and  who  stood  in  an  awe  of  her  sister  So 
phia  only  equalled  by  her  intense  admiration 
of  her. 

So  what  was  there  for  Phebe  to  do  ?     She 
was  fond  of  music,  and  whistled  like  a  bird,  but 


10  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

she  had  no  piano  and  did  not  know  one  note 
from  another ;  and  she  did  not  care  for  books, 
which  was  fortunate,  as  their  wee  library,  all 
told,  did  not  count  a  hundred  volumes,  most  of 
which,  too,  were  Miss  Lydia's,  and  were  as 
weak  and  wishy-washy  as  that  poor  little 
woman  herself.  And  she  did  not  care  for  sew 
ing,  though  she  made  nearly  all  her  own  clothes, 
besides  attending  at  any  number  of  impromptu 
Dorcas  meetings,  where  the  needy  were  the 
unskilled  rich  instead  of  the  helpless  poor,  so 
that  of  course  her  labor  did  not  count  at  all  as 
a  virtue,  since  it  was  not  doing  good,  but  only 
obliging  a  friend.  And  she  did  not  care  for 
parties,  though  she  generally  went  and  was  al 
ways  asked,  being  such  a  help  as  regarded  wall 
flowers,  while  none  of  the  young  girls  dreaded 
her  as  a  rival,  it  being  a  well-known  fact  that 
Phebe  Lane,  general  favorite  though  she  was, 
somehow  or  other  never  "  took  "  with  the  men, 
or  at  least  not  sufficiently  to  damage  any  other 
enterprising  girl's  prospects.  Why  this  was  so, 
was  hard  to  say.  Phebe  was  pretty,  and  lovable, 
and  sweet-tempered.  If  she  was  not  sparkling 
or  witty,  neither  was  she  sarcastic ;  and  bright 


JOPPA.  1 1 

enough  she  was  certainly,  though  not  intellect 
ual,  and  though  she  talked  little  save  with  a 
few.  It  was  strange.  True  as  steel,  pos 
sessed  of  that  keen  sense  of  justice  and  honor 
so  strangely  lacking  in  many  women,  with  a 
passionate  capability  for  love  and  devotion  and 
self-sacrifice  beyond  power  of  fathoming,  and 
above  all  with  a  clinging  womanly  nature  that 
yearned  for  affection  as  a  flower  longs  for  light, 
she  was  yet  the  only  girl  out  of  all  her  set  who 
had  never  had  any  especial  attention.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  she  was  no  flirt.  Bell  Masters 
said  no  girl  could  get  along  who  did  not  flirt. 
Perhaps  because  in  her  excessive  truthfulness 
she  was  sometimes  blunt  and  almost  brusque  ; 
it  is  dreadfully  out  of  place  not  to  be  able  to  lie 
a  little  at  times.  Even  Mrs.  Upjohn,  the  female 
lay-head  of  the  Presbyterians,  who  was  a  walk 
ing  Decalogue,  her  every  sentence  being  a  law 
beginning  with  Thou  shalt  not,  admitted  practi 
cally,  if  not  theoretically,  that  without  risk  of 
damnation  it  was  possible  to  swerve  occasion 
ally  from  a  too  rigid  Yea  and  Nay.  Perhaps,— 
ah,  well,  there  is  no  use  in  exhausting  the  per- 
hapses.  The  fact  remained.  Of  girl-friends 


12  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

she   had  plenty,  and  of  men-friends   she  had 
plenty  ;  but  of  lovers  she  had  none. 

And  this  was  why  when  the  Rev.  Mr.  Den- 
ham  Hallo  way  was  called  to  the  vacant  parish 
of  St.  Joseph's  and  fell  down  in  its  maidenly 
midst  like  a  meteor  from  an  unexplored  heaven, 
— a  young,  handsome  divine,  in  every  way  mar 
riageable,  though  still  unmarried,  and  in  every 
way  attractive,  though  still  to  the  best  of  hope 
and  belief  unattracted, — this  was  why  no  girl  of 
them  all  thought  her  own  chances  lessened  in 
the  least  when  he  and  Phebe  became  such 
friends.  No  one  gossiped.  No  one  ah-ah'd, 
or  oh-oh'd.  No  one  thought  twice  about  it. 
What  difference  could  it  make  ?  If  it  had  been 
anybody  else  now !  But  it  was  only  Phebe 
Lane. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PHEBE. 

MISSPhebe!" 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Halloway ! " 

"  Hush.  Don't  let  them  know  I  'm  here.  I 
could  n't  help  peeping  in  as  I  went  by.  You 

look  done  up." 
..  j        >» 
"  I  am. 

"  What  's  going  on  ?  " 

"  Come  in  and  see." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  Gracious  !  Mrs.  Upjohn 
will  think  that 's  a  swear.  Don't  look  this  way, 
Miss  Phebe.  They  '11  discover  me.  What 's  Mr. 
Hardcastle  saying  ?  " 

"  The  world  is  very  evil." 

"  '  The  times  are  waxing  late.'  Why  does  n  't 
he  add  that  and  go  ?  " 

"  He  never  goes.     He  only  comes." 

"  What  is  Mrs.  Upjohn  so  wrought  up 
about  ? " 

13 


14  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  She  caught  one  of  her  Sunday-school  boys 
breaking  Sunday." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Eating  apples." 

"  Horrible  !     Where  ?  " 

"  Up  in  a  tree." 

"  Whose  tree  ?  " 

"  That 's  where  the  unpardonable  comes  in. 
Her  tree." 

"  Poor  boy  ;  what  a  mistake  !  What  are  you 
doing  with  that  hideous  silk  stocking  ?  " 

"  Picking  up  dropped  stitches." 

"  Whose  stitches  ?     Yours  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hardcastle's." 

"  Don't  aid  and  abet  her  in  creating  that 
monstrosity.  It 's  participation  in  crime.  It 's 
worse  than  eating  apples  up  a  tree.  Do  you 
always  have  such  a  crowd  here  in  the  morn- 

ing  ?  " 

"  Always." 

"  How  long  have  they  been  here?  " 

"  Nearly  two  hours." 

"  What  do  they  come  for  ?  " 

"  Habit." 

"  Miss  Lydia  's  asleep." 


PHEBE.  15 

"  Habit  too." 

"  What  shall  you  do  when  you  are  done  with 
that  odious  stocking  ?  " 

"  Sort  crewels  for  Mrs.  Upjohn." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Iron  out  my  dress  for  the  party." 

"  Oh,  at  Mrs.  Anthony's  ?    Who  '11  be  there  ?  " 

"  Everybody  who  has  dropped  in  here  this 
morning." 

"  Who  else  ?  " 

"  Those  who  dropped  in  yesterday." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  to  make  it  party-like  ?  " 

"  Simper.     Are  n't  you  coming  too  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  think  it  would  do  for  me  to  say 
that  I  held  party-going  wrong  for  a  clergyman. 
Could  I  ?  I  might  win  over  Mrs.  Upjohn  to 
the  Church  by  so  holy  a  statement." 

"  You  had  better  take  to  round-dancing  in 
stead,  then,  to  keep  her  out  of  it." 

"  Miss  Phebe,  is  it  possible  you  are  severe  on 
poor  Mrs.  Upjohn  ?  " 

"  Very  possible." 

"  As  your .  pastor  I  must  admonish  you. 
Don't  be.  Besides,  it  's  safer  to  keep  on  her 
blind  side." 

"  She  has  n't  any." 


1 6  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Unhappy  woman  !  What  a  blaze  of  moral 
light  she  must  live  in !  But  I  ought  to  have 
been  in  my  study  an  hour  ago.  I  must  tear 
myself  away.  I  wish  you  all  ill-luck  possible 
with  those  stitches." 

"  Ah,  is  that  you,  Mr.  Halloway  ?  I  was 
wondering  what  kept  Phebe  so  long  in  the  win 
dow.  Good-morning,  sir.  Good-morning,  sir. 
Pray,  come  in."  And  having,  by  a  turn  of  his 
slow  old  head,  discovered  the  young  man  stand 
ing  just  outside  the  window,  Mr.  Hardcastle 
came  pompously  forward,  waving  his  hand  in  a 
grand  way  he  had,  that  seemed  to  bespeak  him 
always  the  proprietor,  no  matter  in  whose  house 
he  chanced  to  be. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Hardcastle,  not  this  morn 
ing.  I  was  just  telling  Miss  Phebe  I  ought  to 
be  at  work.  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Lane.  Good- 
morning,  Mrs.  Upjohn — Mrs.  Hardcastle — Miss 
Delano — Miss  Brooks." 

And  with  a  cheery  bow  to  each  individual 
head,  craning  itself  forward  to  have  a  look  at 
the  unusual  young  man  who  had  work  to  do, 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Halloway  walked  off  to  his  rec 
tory,  which  was  directly  opposite,  giving  a  merry 


PHEBE.  17 

glance  back  at  Phebe  from  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  Phebe  was  still  smiling  as  she  went 
with  the  stocking  to  its  owner. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. Hardcastle, 
taking  it  from  her  without  looking.  "  Oh,  my 
child,  how  could  you  be  so  careless  !  You  have 
let  me  pull  out  one  of  the  needles.  Well — well." 

Phebe  took  the  work  silently  back,  and  sat 
herself  down  on  a  stool  to  remedy  the  mischief. 

"  A  nice  young  fellow  enough,"  remarked 
Mr.  Hardcastle,  condescendingly,  returning  to 
the  group  of  ladies.  "  But  he  '11  never  set  the 
river  on  fire." 

"  No  need  he  should,  is  there  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Upjohn,  looking  up  sharply  from  her  embroid 
ery.  She  always  contradicted,  if  only  for  argu 
ment's  sake,  so  that  even  her  assents  usually 
took  a  negative  form.  "  It  's  enough  if  he  's 
able  to  put  out  a  fire  in  that  Church.  It  does  n't 
take  much  of  a  man,  I  understand,  to  fill  an 
Episcopalian  pulpit."  (Nobody  had  ever  yet 
been  able  to  teach  the  good  dame  the  difference 
between  Episcopal  and  Episcopalian,  and  she 
preferred  the  undivided  use  of  the  latter  word.) 
"  Any  thing  will  go  down  with  them." 


1 8  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Upjohn.  It  's  undeni 
ably  a  poor  Church,  a  poor  Church,  and  I  hope 
we  may  all  live  to  witness  its  downfall.  It  must 
have  been  a  hard  day  for  you,  Mrs.  Lane,  when 
Phebe  went  over  to  it.  I  never  forgave  old 
Mr.  White  for  receiving  her  into  it ;  I  never  did, 
indeed." 

Phebe  only  smiled. 

"  Humph ! "  said  Mrs.  Lane,  biting  off  a  thread. 
"  Phebe  may  go  where  she  likes,  for  all  me,  so 
long  as  only  she  goes.  Baptist  I  was  bred,  and 
Baptist  I  '11  be  buried ;  but  it  's  with  churches 
as  with  teas,  I  say.  One  's  as  good  as  another, 
but  people  may  take  green,  or  black,  or  mixed, 
as  best  agrees  with  their  stomachs." 

"  That  's  a  very  dangerous  doctrine,"  said 
Mrs.  Upjohn.  "  Push  it  a  little  further,  and 
you  '11  have  babes  and  sucklings  living  on  beef, 
and  their  elders  dining  on  pap." 

"  Humph!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Lane  again.  "If 
they  like  it,  what 's  the  odds  ?  " 

"  He — he!"  snickered  Miss  Brooks. 

"  Well,  now,"  resumed  Mr.  Hardcastle,  "  it 
stands  to  reason  children  should  learn  to  like 
what  their  elders  have  liked  before  them.  That 's 


PHEBE.  19 

the  only  decent  and  Christian  way  of  living. 
And  as  I  said  to  my  son, — to  my  Dick,  you 
know  "  (Mr.  Hardcastle  had  a  son  of  whom  he 
always  spoke  as  if  sole  owner  of  him,  and  in 
deed  solely  responsible  for  his  being), — "  '  Dick,' 
I  said,  when  he  spoke  disrespectfully  of  Mr. 
Webb's  prayers, —and  Mr.  Webb  is  a  powerful 
prayer-maker,  to  be  sure, — '  Dick,'  I  said, 
'  church  is  like  physic,  and  the  more  you  don't 
like  it,  the  more  good  it  does  you.  And  if  you 
think  Mr.  Webb's  prayers  are  too  long,  it  's  a 
sign  that  for  your  soul's  salvation  they  ought  to 
be  longer.'  And  I  said " 

Mrs.  Lane  knew  by  long  experience  that  now 
or  never  was  the  time  to  stop  Mr.  Hardcastle. 
Once  fairly  started  on  the  subject  of  his  supposed 
advice  to  Dick  on  any  given  occasion,  there  was 
no  arresting  his  eloquence.  She  started  up 
abruptly  from  her  sewing-machine  with  her 
mouth  full  of  pins,  emptying  them  into  her  hand 

as  she  went.  "  Those  ginger-cookies "  she 

mumbled  as  she  passed  Mr.  Hardcastle.  "  They 
ought  to  be  done  by  this." 

A  promissory  fragrance  caught  the  old  gentle 
man's  nostrils  as  she  opened  the  door,  dispel- 


20  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

ling  sterner  thoughts.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  sniffing 
the  air  with  evident  approbation,  "  I  was  about 
going,  but  I  don't  mind  if  I  stay  and  try  a  few. 
Your  make,  Phebe  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Phebe,  shortly,  moving  just 
out  of  reach  of  the  bland  old  hand,  which 
stretched  itself  out  to  chuck  her  under  the  chin, 
and  was  left  patting  the  air  with  infinite  benevo 
lence  ;  "  mother  made  them." 

"  All  wrong,"  commented  Mrs.  Upjohn. 
"  All  wrong.  You  should  not  leave  your 
mother  any  work  that  you  could  spare  her.  One 
of  the  first  things  I  taught  our  Maria "  (Mrs. 
Upjohn  in  Mr.  Hardcastle's  presence  always 
said  our  Maria  with  great  distinctness), — "  one 
of  the  first  things  I  taught  her  was,  that  it  was 
her  privilege  to  save  me  in  every  thing.  I 
don't  believe  in  idleness  for  girls.  Are  n't  you 
ready  yet  to  attend  to  these  crewels,  Phebe  ? 
Miss  Brooks  is  snarling  them  terribly." 

"  Phebe  's  really  a  very  good  girl  in  her  way 
though,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hardcastle,  indulgent 
ly,  from  her  easy-chair.  "  I  will  testify  that  she 
can  make  quite  eatable  cake  at  a  pinch." 

Phebe     secretly    thought    Mrs.    Hardcastle 


PHEBE.  21 

ought  to  know.  She  remembered  her  once 
spoiling  a  new-made  company  loaf  by  slashing 
into  it  without  so  much  as  a  by-your-leave. 

"  That  was  very  nice  cake  Miss  Lynch  gave 
us  last  night,"  piped  in  Miss  Delano. 

"  Too  much  citron,"  pronounced  Mrs.  Upjohn, 
decisively.  "  You  should  never  overload  your 
cake  with  citron.  It  turns  it  out  heavy,  as  sure 
as  there  's  a  sun  in  the  heavens." 

"  There  is  n't  any  to-day ;  it  's  cloudy," 
Phebe  could  not  help  putting  in,  demurely,  but 
no  one  paid  any  attention,  except  that  Mrs.  Up 
john  turned  on  her  an  un  worded  expression  of: 
"  If  I  say  so,  it  is  so  whether  or  no." 

An  animated  debate  on  cake  followed,  in  the 
middle  of  which  Mrs.  Lane  reappeared  with  a 
trayful  of  cookies  hot  from  the  oven  ;  and  two 
more  callers  came  in,  Bell  Masters  and  Dick 
Hardcastle,  which  last  first  woke  up  Miss  Lydia 
with  a  boisterous  kiss,  frightening  the  poor  soul 
half  to  death  by  assuring  her  she  had  been 
snoring  so  that  he  heard  her  way  down  street, 
and  then  devoted  himself  to  the  cookies  with  a 
good- will  and  large  capacity  that  filled  one  with 
compassionate  feelings  toward  his  mother's  larder. 


22  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


With  these  new  and  younger  elements  the  talk 
varied  a  little.  They  discussed  last  night's  party, 
the  supper,  the  dresses,  the  people,  and  then 
the  probabilities  of  to-night's  party,  the  people, 
the  dresses,  the  supper.  And  then  Dick  made 
a  sensation  by  saying  right  out,  that  he  had  just 
met  Mr.  Upjohn  on  Main  Street  with  Mrs.  Bruce, 
holding  a  parasol  gallantly  over  her  head.  And 
everybody  looked  at  once  at  Mrs.  Upjohn,  and 
then  back  at  the  graceless  Dick,  and  an  awful 
silence  succeeded,  broken  by  Mrs.  Upjohn's 
reaching  out  her  hand  and  saying  in  the  tone 
of  a  Miss  Cushman  on  the  stage  :  "  Dick, 
dear,  I  '11  take  another  cookie."  If  Mr.  Up 
john  chose  to  walk  down  town  shielding 
women's  complexions  for  them,  why  in  the 
world  should  she  trouble  herself  about  it, 
beyond  making  sure  that  he  did  not  by  mis 
take  take  her  parasol  for  the  kindly  office? 
And  so  the  talk  went  on,  people  coming  and 
people  going,  and  Mrs.  Lane  did  up  a  whole 
basketful  of  work  undisturbed,  and  Phebe  in 
wardly  chafed  and  fumed  and  longed  for  dinner 
time,  that  at  last  the  ceaseless,  aimless  chatter 
might  come  to  an  end. 


PHEBE.  23 

She  went  to  the  party  that  night,  because  in 
Joppa  everybody  had  to  go  when  asked.  To 
refuse  was  considered  tantamount  to  an  open 
declaration  of  war,  unless  in  case  of  illness,  and 
then  it  almost  required  a  doctor's  certificate  to 
get  one  off.  It  was  a  good  law  and  ensured 
the  suppers  being  disposed  of.  There  was  no 
dancing  to-night,  it  being  an  understood  thing 
that  when  Mrs.  Upjohn  was  asked  there  should 
be  none  or  she  would  not  come  ;  but  there  was 
music.  Bell  Masters  had  a  very  nice  contralto 
voice,  and  was  always  willing  to  sing,  thus  sure  of 
securing  one  of  Joppa's  few  young  gentlemen  to 
stand  by  and  turn  over  her  leaves ;  she  thought 
fully  took  her  music  on  that  account,  giving  out 
that  she  could  not  play  without  notes.  Phebe 
had  been  doing  her  best  all  unconsciously  to 
herself  to  help  her  hosts  entertain,  but  when  the 
singing  began  she  stole  away  to  the  nearly 
empty  piazza,  and  stood  leaning  by  the  window, 
enjoying  the  cool  air  and  softly  whistling  an  ac 
companiment  to  the  song  ;  and  there  Mr.  Hal- 
loway  found  her.  She  looked  up  at  him  and 
smiled  as  he  joined  her,  but  went  on  with  her 
low,  sweet  whistling  all  the  same. 


24  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  I  like  that  better  than  the  singing,"  he  said, 
when  at  last  it  came  to  an  end  with  the 
music. 

"You  ought  not  to,  Mr.  Halloway.  Don't 
you  know  it 's  very  unlady-like  to  whistle  ?  Mrs. 
Upjohn  puts  Maria  to  bed  for  it." 

"  Dear  me.  I  must  take  care  she  does  n't 
ever  catch  me  at  it.  Ah  !  the  dress  has  ironed 
nicely,  has  n't  it?  Would  you  mind  standing 
out  a  little  from  the  shadow  ?  " 

Phebe  moved  a  step  forward  into  the  stream 
of  light  that  shot  across  the  piazza  from  the 
open  window,  and  stood  so,  looking  up  at  him 
out  of  her  soft  white  muslin  draperies  and  white 
ribbons,  not  a  ray  of  color  about  her  anywhere, 
like  a  very  material  and  sweet  little  ghost. 

"  Yes,  you  look  very  nice,  very  nice  indeed," 
he  said,  after  a  grave  inspection  that  took  in 
every  detail  of  face  and  figure.  A  young,  in 
nocent  face  it  was,  with  soft  brown  hair  as 
bright  and  as  fine  as  silk,  all  turned  back  from 
a  low  forehead,  around  which  it  grew  in  the 
very  prettiest  way  in  the  world,  and  gathered 
in  loose  braids  in  the  neck  ;  and  she  had  such 
a  fresh,  clear  complexion,  and  such  honest,  lov- 


PHEBE  25 

ing,  gray  eyes,  and  such  a  round,  girlish  figure, 
— how  was  it  people  never  made  more  of  her 
prettiness  ? 

"  I  think  you  look  nicer  than  any  one  here," 
Mr.  Halloway  added,  in  thorough  conviction. 
"  You  must  be  an  adept  in  ironing."  Phebe 
laughed  softly  in  pure  pleasure.  It  was  so  new 
to  have  such  pretty  things  said  to  her.  "  Would 
it  be  very  wrong  to  slip  away  together  for  a 
rest  ?  "  he  continued,  leading  her  a  little  farther 
along.  "  Let  us  sit  down  on  the  steps  here  and 
recruit.  I  have  talked  my  throat  hoarse  to  each 
of  the  very  deafest  old  ladies  in  turn, — I  sup 
pose  they  came  here  purposely  to  be  screeched 
at, — and  I  saw  you  working  valiantly  among 
the  old  men.  What  a  place  this  is  for  lon 
gevity  ! " 

"  You  are  finding  out  its  characteristics  by 
degrees,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  am  I  not  ?  "  said  he,  with  his  pleasant 
laugh.  "  I  know  intimately  every  member  of 
my  parish  and  every  member  of  every  other 
parish  by  this  time  from  sheer  hearsay.  Each 
house  I  visit  gives  me  no  end  of  valuable 
and  minute  information  about  all  the  other 


26  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

houses.  I  am  waiting  to  come  out  with  a  rous 
ing  sermon  against  gossip,  till  I  shall  have 
gained  all  possible  enlightenment  and  help 
from  it.  I  must  n't  kill  my  goose  that  lays  the 
golden  eggs  before  I  have  all  the  eggs  I  want, 
must  I  ?  " 

"  And  knowing  us  all  so  well,  what  do 
you  think  of  Joppa  as  a  whole  ?  "  asked  Phebe, 
curiously.  "  You  always  say  it  is  too  soon  to 

judge,  but  surely  you  must  really  know  by  this 

.»-•       » 
time. 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  then  turned 
to  her  very  seriously.  "  I  think,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  it  is  a  place  that  needs  a  much  older,  a  much 
better,  and  a  much  wiser  man  than  I  am  to 
be  among  its  leaders  in  any  sense.  It  is  not  at 
all  what  I  thought  it  would  be  when  I  accepted 
the  trust.  It  is  beyond  me.  But  since  the 
Bishop  sent  me  here,  I  mean  to  stay  and  do  my 
best." 

"  How  will  you  begin  ?  " 

"  I  will  begin  with  you,"  he  answered,  lightly, 
with  a  smile  that  lit  up  all  his  face,  the  moment's 
seriousness  quite  gone.  "  You  were  my  first 
friend,  and  I  ought  to  take  you  first  in  hand, 


PHEBE.  27 

t 

ought  I  not?  I  am  going  to  do  you  a  great 
deal  of  good." 

"How?" 

"  I  'm  going  to  teach  you  to  love  books." 

"  You  can't." 

"  Yes,  I  can.  You  don't  know  books,  that  is 
all.  I  intend  to  introduce  you  to  each  other. 
I  have  some  so  interesting  you  can't  help  liking 
them,  and  you  '11  find  yourself  crying  for  more 
before  you  know  it.  I  am  going  to  bring  them 
over  to  you.  You  shall  have  something 
better  to  do  than  fill  up  all  your  mornings 
with  promoting  stockings  of  exasperating  colors, 
and  listening  to  tales  of  Sabbath-breakers.  Just 
wait  and  see.  I  am  going  to  metamorphose 
you." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  would !  "  sighed  Phebe, 
clasping  her  hands  and  speaking  so  earnestly 
that  he  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "I  am  so 
sick  of  myself.  I  do  want  to  be  something 
better  than  I  am.  I  am  so  dreadfully  common 
place.  I  amount  to  so  little.  I  know  so  little. 
I  can  do  so  little.  And  there  is  no  one  here 
who  cares  to  help  me  to  any  thing  better. 
I  don't  know  enough  even  to  know  how  to  im- 


28  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

prove  myself.  But  I  do  want  to.  Will  you 
help  me,  Mr.  Halloway  ?  Will  you  really  help 
me  ?  "  She  positively  had  tears  shining  in 
her  eyes. 

Mr.  Halloway  leaned  forward  and  gently 
took  her  hand.  "  Am  I  not  here  for  that  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Here  purposely  to  help  you 
and  all  who  need  me  in  any  way  ?  Will  it 
not  be  my  greatest  pleasure  to  do  so,  as  well 
as  my  best  and  truest  work?  You  may  be 
sure,  Miss  Phebe,  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you, 
with  God's  help." 

"  Rather  damp  for  you  to  be  sitting  there 
without  a  shawl,  is  n't  it,  my  child  ?  " 

It  was  only  Mrs.  Anthony's  friendly  voice,  as 
that  lady  passed  hurriedly  by,  intent  on  hospi 
table  duties,  but  Phebe  started  guiltily.  What 
right  had  she  to  be  out  here  with  Mr.  Hallo- 
way,  keeping  him  from  the  other  girls,  when 
she  ought,  of  course,  to  be  in  the  parlors  seeing 
that  the  old  ladies  got  their  ice-cream  safely  ? 
"  I  '11  go  right  in,"  she  said,  rising  hastily  ; 
but  Mr.  Halloway  drew  her  hand  through  his 
arm  to  detain  her. 

"  Why  ?     Because  it  is  damp  ?  " 


PHEBE.  29 

"  No  ;  because  I  ought  not  to  be  selfish.  I 
ought  to  go  back  and  help." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  I  am  getting  new  lights 
every  moment.  Then  you  don't  go  to  parties 
just  to  enjoy  yourself?" 

She  opened  wide,  serious  eyes.     "  Oh,  no." 

He  smiled  down  at  her  very  kindly,  "  You 
shall  go  right  away,"  he  said,  releasing  her.  "  I 
will  not  keep  you  another  instant  from  dear  Mr. 
Hardcastle  and  that  nice  Mrs.  Upjohn.  But 
before  you  go  let  me  tell  you,  Miss  Phebe,  that, 
if  only  in  view  of  your  latest  confession,  I  do 
not  think  you  commonplace  at  all !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

GERALD. 

IT  was  another  article  of  the  Joppian  creed, 
that  there  was  no  such  thing  possible  as  a 
purely  Platonic  friendship  between  a  young  man 
and  a  young  woman  ;  there  must  always  be 
"  something  in  it ":  either  a  mitten  for  him,  or  a 
disappointment  for  her,  or  wedding-cake  for  all 
— generally  and  preferably,  of  course,  the  wed 
ding-cake  ; — and  belonging  to  such  friendship  as 
lawfully  as  a  tail  belongs  to  a  comet,  was  a  great, 
wide-spreading  area  of  gossip.  It  was  only  in 
the  case  of  Phebe  Lane  that  this  universal 
and  common-sense  rule  had  its  one  particular 
and  unreasonable  exception ;  and  it  was  acting 
upon  a  speedily  acquired  knowledge  of  this 
by-law,  that  Mr.  Halloway  boldly  pursued  his 
plan  for  metamorphosing  his  young  friend,  right 
under  the  open  eyes  and  ears  of  the  Joppites. 
He  lived  so  near  that  it  was  the  most  natural 

30 


GERALD.  3 I 

thing  in  the  world  for  him  to  stop  for  a  moment's 
chat,  as  every  one  else  did,  either  inside  or  out 
side  of  the  window  as  he  went  by ;  and  as  he 
was  always  sure  of  meeting  others,  call  when  he 
would,  it  certainly  never  could  have  been  as 
serted  of  him  that  he  went  there  only  to  see 
Phebe.  Indeed,  he  often  scarcely  spoke  with  her 
at  all  when  he  so  dropped  in,  and  yet  out  of 
these  frequent  and  informal  meetings  an  intimacy 
had  sprung  up  between  them  such  as  Phebe  at 
least  had  never  known  before.  She  submitted 
herself  to  him  docilely,  reading  his  books  patient 
ly  even  when  they  bored  her  unutterably,  as  not 
seldom  happened,  and  endeavoring  to  form  her 
opinion  straitly  upon  his  on  all  intellectual  ques 
tions,  recognizing  her  own  fallibility  with  a  hu 
mility  that  at  once  touched  and  charmed  him. 
Real  humility  is  rare  enough  the  world 
over,  but  nowhere  is  it  less  conspicuously  ap 
parent  than  among  the  flourishing  virtues  of 
Joppa  ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  this  fact  was 
discovered  by  Denham  Halloway,  who,  with  all 
his  gayety  and  light-heartedness,  was  a  keen  and 
discriminating  observer  of  character.  He  was 
one  of  those  interesting  people  whom  all  other 


32  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

people  interest ;  one  of  those  who  derive  their 
peculiar  charm  more  from  what  they  find  in  you 
than  from  what  they  show  you  of  themselves, 
though  one  might  be  ashamed  to  confess  the 
truth  so  baldly.  These  are  the  people  who, 
without  any  especial  gift  of  either  mind  or  per 
son,  wheedle  your  secrets  out  of  you  before  you 
know  it,  possessing  all  your  trust  and  your  liking 
before  they  have  given  any  real  evidence  of  de 
serving  your  confidence,  and  yet,  somehow  or 
other,  though  rarely  either  great  or  talented,  or 
even  heroically  good,  never  for  one  moment 
abusing  it.  Such  characters  are  not  at  all  un 
usual,  yet  are  generally  accounted  so  ;  one  of 
their  chief  qualities,  according  to  their  friends, 
being  that  they  are  so  unlike  everybody  else. 
But  Phebe  certainly  had  never  met  any  one  at 
all  like  Mr.  Halloway,  and  she  was  soon  of  the 
settled  conviction  that  she  should  never  meet 
any  one  quite  like  him  again.  He  was  true  to 
his  promise  to  help  her  ;  (he  never  made  a 
promise  that  he  did  not  honestly  try  to  keep  ;) 
and  he  applied  himself  to  the  by  no  means 
thankless  task  with  the  good-humored  direct 
ness  and  energy  that  characterized  all  his  ac- 


GERALD.  33 

tions.  There  was  quite  a  number  of  young 
girls  in  his  parish,  more  proportionately  than  in 
the  others.  Bell  Masters  and  Amy  Duckworth 
had  long  been  hovering  on  its  borders,  and  the 
advent  of  so  young  and  prepossessing  a  rector 
had  instantly  removed  their  last  scruples  as  to 
infant  baptism,  and  settled  forever  their  doubts 
as  to  the  apostolic  succession.  They  had  come 
in  at  once.  It  was  even  whispered  that  Maria 
Upjohn  had  in  an  incautious  moment  confessed 
that  she  preferred  the  litany  to  Mr.  Webb's 
spontaneous  effusions,  and  had  been  summarily 
sat  upon  by  her  mother,  whose  Bible  contained 
an  eleventh  commandment  curiously  omitted 
from  the  twentieth  chapter  of  Exodus  in  other 
versions,  and  reading:  "  Thou  shalt  not  become 
an  Episcopalian,  and  if  possible,  thou  shalt  not 
be  born  one."  Then  there  were  Nellie  Atter- 
bury,  and  Janet  Mudge,  and  Polly  and  Mattie 
Dexter ;  there  certainly  was  no  lack  of  active 
young  teachers  for  the  Sunday-school,  and 
Phebe  was  well  content  to  remain  passively 
aside,  as  of  old.  But,  as  Mrs.  Lane  remarked, 
there  were  no  drones  allowed  in  Mr.  Halloway's 
hive,  and  before  long  Phebe  found  herself  in- 


34  ONLY  AN 'INCIDENT 

sensibly  drawn  in  to  be  one  of  the  workers  too, 
with  any  amount  of  business  growing  up  on  her 
hands,  and  herself,  under  this  new  and  wise 
guidance,  becoming  more  and  more  capable  for 
it  every  day. 

"  A  new  broom  sweeps  clean,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Upjohn,  contemptuously,  as  she  heard  of 
the  stir  and  life  in  St.  Joseph's  heretofore-dull 
little  parish.  "  For  my  part,  I  would  rather 
have  Mr.  White  back — if  he  were  n't  dead.  He 
was  a  good,  sensible  old  man,  who  knew  his 
place,  and  was  contented  to  let  his  Church  sim 
mer  in  the  background,  where  it  belongs.  He 
did  n't  go  flaunting  his  white  gown  in  people's 
faces  every  Saint's  day  he  could  trump  up,  let 
alone  the  Wednesday  and  Friday  services. 
Who  's  Mr.  Halloway  ?  What  does  anybody 
know  about  him  beyond  that  the  Bishop  recom 
mended  him,  as  if  a  Bishop  must  know  what  's 
what  better  than  other  people,  forsooth  !  Don't 
tell  me ! "  said  Mrs.  Upjohn,  in  unutterable 
scorn.  "  He  's  a  new  broom,  and  he  's  raising 
a  big  dust,  and  I  would  liefer  have  Mr.  White 
back  and  let  the  dust  lie, — that  's  all !  " 

But  the  Joppites  were  far  from  sharing  Mrs. 


GERALD  35 

Upjohn's  sentiments.  Mr.  Halloway  did,  it  is 
true,  belong  to  the  wrong  Church,  but  there  was 
a  strong  suspicion  among  them  that  neither  had 
this  man  sinned,  nor  his  parents,  that  he  was 
born  to  so  grievous  a  fate.  It  was  rather  his 
misfortune.  And  as  for  the  rest,  he  was  thor 
oughly  a  gentleman  ;  was  excellently  well  edu 
cated  ;  and  was,  moreover,  comely  to  look  upon, 
and  eminently  agreeable  in  his  bearing.  No; 
Joppa  was  far  from  begrudging  Mr.  White  his 
departure  to  the  land  of  the  blessed.  It  was 
time  the  good  old  man  went  to  his  reward,  they 
said. 

And  as  to  Mrs.  Whittridge,  Mr.  Halloway 's 
sister,  who  kept  house  for  him  at  the  rectory, 
through  all  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  Joppa 
there  were  no  two  opinions  with  regard  to  her. 
She  was  a  woman  of  about  fifty,  enough  older 
than  her  brother  to  have  been  his  mother,  and 
she  seemed  indeed  to  cherish  almost  a  mother's 
idolatrous  affection  for  him.  She  had  lost  her 
husband  many  years  before,  and  had  been  left 
with  considerable  fortune  and  no  family  besides 
this  one  brother.  So  much  information,  after 
repeated  and  unabashedly  point-blank  ques- 


36  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

tions,  had  the  Joppites  succeeded  in  extracting 
from  Mr.  Halloway,  who  with  all  his  apparent 
frankness  was  the  most  difficult  person  in  the 
world  ever  to  be  brought  to  talk  of  himself  and 
his  own  affairs.  But  just  to  see  Mrs.  Whit- 
tridge,  with  her  sweet  face  and  perfect  manners, 
was  to  recognize  her  at  once  for  a  gentlewoman 
in  every  sense  of  the  word,  while  to  be  in  her 
society,  if  but  for  ten  minutes,  was  to  come 
very  nearly  to  loving  her.  The  Joppites  saw 
but  one  fault  in  her  ;  she  did  not  and  would  not 
visit.  All  who  sought  her  out  were  made  more 
than  welcome ;  but  whether  from  the  extreme 
delicacy  of  her  health,  which  rendered  visiting  a 
burden,  or  because  of  her  widow's  dress  of 
deepest  mourning,  which  she  had  never  laid 
aside,  it  came  to  be  an  accepted  thing  that  she 
went  nowhere.  It  was  a  great  disappointment 
to  Joppa  ;  nevertheless  it  was  impossible  to 
harbor  ill-will  toward  this  lovely,  high-bred 
lady,  who  drew  all  hearts  to  herself  by  the  very 
way  she  had  of  seeming  never  to  think  of  her 
self  at  all.  She  won  Phebe  Lane's  affection  at 
once  and  forever  with  almost  her  first  words, 
spoken  in  the  low,  clear,  sweet  tones  that 
sounded  always  like  Sunday-night's  music. 


GERALD.  37 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Halloway,"  Phebe  said 
to  him  one  day,  "  I  think  it  does  me  more  good 
only  to  hear  your  sister's  voice  than  to  listen  to 
the  very  best  sermon  ever  preached." 

"Miss  Phebe,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  brown  eyes,  "  if  you  propagate 
that  doctrine  largely,  I  am  a  ruined  man.  I 
must  hold  you  over  to  eternal  secrecy.  But  as 
regards  the  fact, — there  is  my  hand, — I  am 
quite  of  your  way  of  thinking !  I  am  persuaded 
an  angel's  voice  got  into  Sceur  Angelique  by 
mistake."  Mrs.  Whittridge's  baptismal  name 
was  Angelica,  but  to  her  brother  she  had 
always  been  "  Sceur  Angelique "  and  nothing 
else. 

"  Yes,  and  an  angel's  soul  too,"  said  Phebe. 

"  Even  that,"  replied  Mr.  Halloway.  "  She 
is  all  and  more  than  you  can  possibly  imagine 
that  she  is.  But  I  positively  forbid  your  putting 
her  up  on  a  pedestal  and  worshipping  her.  In 
the  first  place,  too  great  a  sense  of  her  own 
holiness  might  mar  her  present  admirable  but 
purely  earthly  management  of  our  little  house 
hold,  thus  seriously  interfering  with  my  com 
forts.  And  in  the  second  place,  I  feel  it  my 


38  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

duty  to  warn  you  from  a  habit  of  canonization, 
which,  if  too  extensively  indulged  in,  will  in 
evitably  warp  your  powers  of  frank  and  right 
judgment." 

Phebe  laughed,  but  did  not  forget. 

One  afternoon,  some  time  later,  she  was  at 
the  rectory,  whither  she  had  gone,  at  Mrs. 
Whittridge's  request,  to  explain  a  new  and 
intricate  embroidery  stitch.  They  were  up 
stairs  in  that  lady's  charming  little  sitting-room, 
Phebe  on  a  low  stool  by  her  friend's  side,  and 
Halloway  had  just  come  in  from  a  round  of 
parochial  visits  and  joined  them  there. 

"Mrs.  Whittridge,"  said  Phebe,  suddenly, 
"do  you  think  it  is  possible  to  care  too  much 
for  one's  friends?  Mr.  Halloway  says  one  can. 
I  know  he  means  that  I  do." 

Mrs.  Whittridge  laid  her  hand  caressingly  on 
the  girl's  bonny  brown  hair.  "  How  can  I 
judge,  my  child?  I  do  not  even  know  who 
your  friends  are." 

"Who  are  they,  in  fact?"  said  Denham, 
drawing  up  a  chair  and  seating  himself  in  front 
of  the  group  by  the  table.  "  Oh,  Miss  Phebe  is 
friends  with  the  entire  village  in  a  way.  They 


GERALD.  39 

all  call  her  '  Phebe,'  and  keep  accurate  track  of 
her  birthdays,  from  Dick  Hardcastle  up.  And 
I  am  sure  she  has  n't  an  enemy  in  the 
world.  But  there  is  this  remarkable  feature  in 
the  case,  that  you  could  go  over  the  entire 
population  of  Joppa  by  name  without  eliciting  a 
single  thrill  of  enthusiasm  from  this  really  en 
thusiastic  young  lady." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  Phebe  murmured,  a  little 
shamefacedly.  "  I  bore  them,  and  they  bore 
me." 

"  That 's  a  point  in  your  education  I  am  going 
to  take  up  later,"  remarked  Mr.  Hallo  way,  cheer 
fully.  "  The  art  of  not  being  bored  by  people. 
Once  acquired,  the  other,  that  of  not  boring 
them,  follows  of  itself.  Society  hangs  on  it." 

"  I  wish  you  would  teach  me  that  right  away," 
said  Phebe,  earnestly.  "  I  believe  I  need  that 
more  than  any  thing  else." 

"  Well,  I  will,  immediately, — after  supper, 
that  is.  I  am  exhausted  now  with  ministerial 
duties.  You  have  asked  Miss  Phebe  to  tea 
have  you  not,  Sceur  Angelique  ?  You  cannot 
stay  ?  Oh,  but  of  course  you  must." 

"  Of  course  she  will,"  said  Mrs.  Whittridge, 


40  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

with  her  tender  smile.  "  Phebe  only  lives  to 
give  pleasure  to  others.  Now  tell  me  some 
thing  about  your  friends.  Who  are  they  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  any  here.  Mr.  Halloway  is  quite 
right,"  answered  Phebe,  locking  her  hands  over 
one  of  Mrs.  Whittridge's.  "  Not  real,  real 
friends.  As  a  child  I  had  ever  so  many,  and 
Bell  Masters  and  I  quite  grew  up  together,  but 
somehow  we  have  all  grown  away  from  each 
other,  and — oh,  I  don't  know  ! — it  seems  as  if 
there  was  n't  any  thing  in  the  girls  here.  Not 
that  there  's  more  in  me.  They  are  brighter 
and  better  than  I  in  every  way,  but  we  don't 
get  on  together ;  they  don't  seem  to  have  any 
thing  to  give  me,  any  thing  they  can  help  me 
to.  I  can't  get  at  them.  Oh !  Mr.  Halloway 
is  quite  right.  In  all  Joppa  I  have  n't  a  single 
friend — except  just  you  and  him." 

"  We  are  indeed  your  friends,"  said  Mrs. 
Whittridge.  "  You  need  never  doubt  that." 

The  girl  turned  and  threw  her  arms  impul 
sively  around  the  other's  neck.  "  Oh,  no,  no!  " 
she  said.  "  I  could  not  doubt  it.  I  know  it. 
\feel\\.\  Oh,  you  can't  guess  what  it  is  to  me 
to  know  it !  I  have  so  little  in  my  life  to  make 


GERALD.  41 

it  grow  to  any  thing,  and  I  want  so  much  !  And 
you  can  give  me  all  I  want — all,  all ;  and  it  makes 
me  so  happy  when  I  think  of  it, — that  I  have 
got  you  and  can  have  all  I  want !  " 

"  And  is  this  frantic  outburst  meant  exclu 
sively  for  Soeur  Angelique  ? "  asked  Denham. 
"  I  am  green  with  unutterable  jealousy.  I 
thought  I  was  your  friend  too,  Miss  Phebe." 

Phebe  still  knelt  with  her  arms  around  Mrs. 
Whittridge,  but  she  looked  up  at  him  with  her 
frank,  loving  eyes  and  smiled.  "  You  know  I 
meant  you  both,"  she  said  softly. 

An  almost  irresistible  impulse  came  over  the 
young  man  to  lay  his  hand,  as  his  sister  had 
done,  on  the  soft,  bright-brown  hair.  Clergy 
men  are  but  human  after  all.  He  bent  forward, 
but  only  lifted  one  of  his  sister's  thin  white 
hands  and  held  it  a  moment  between  his.  "  We 
must  both  do  our  best  by  this  foolish  little  girl 
who  trusts  us  so  frankly  with  her  friendship, 
must  we  not,  Soeur  Angelique?"  he  said 
gravely. 

"  I  for  one  am  very  glad  to  assume  the  trust, " 
said  Mrs.  Whittridge. 

"And  won't  you  ever  tire  of  me?  ever? 
ever?  "  asked  the  girl. 


42  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Not  ever." 

"You  won't  ever  be  tired  helping  me,  or  tired 
of  having  me  come  to  you  for  help,  or  tired  of 
my  loving  you  ?  " 

"  Where  is  your  faith  gone,  my  child  ?  " 

Phebe  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  content.  "  I  am 
just  as  happy  as  can  be,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
want  any  thing  else  now  in  the  world  except  just 
Gerald." 

"  Ah,  Gerald  again.  I  expected  that,"  said 
Mr.  Halloway,  raising  his  eyebrows  humor 
ously. 

"Gerald?  Pray,  who  is  Gerald?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Whittridge. 

Her  brother  lifted  his  hands  in  mock  amaze 
ment.  "  Is  it  possible  you  know  Miss  Phebe  so 
long  and  need  ask  who  Gerald  is  ?  I  will  tell 
you.  Gerald  is  perfection  individualized.  Ger 
ald  has  all  the  qualities,  mental,  physical,  and 
spiritual,  that  it  is  possible  to  compress  into  the 
limited  compass  of  even  an  overgrown  human 
frame.  Gerald,  you  must  know,  is  intellectual 
to  a  degree,  beautiful  as  an  archangel,  adorable 
as — as  you,  Soeur  Angelique,  and  clever — 
almost — as  myself." 


GERALD.  43 

Phebe  clapped  her  hands  and  nodded.  "  Yes, 
yes,  all  that !  " 

"  I  can  tell  you  all  about  Gerald,"  continued 
Halloway.  "  I  have  heard  of  nothing"  else  since 
I  came.  Gerald,  my  dear  sister,  is  Miss  Phebe's 
idol  ;  I  rather  think  she  says  her  prayers  before 
Gerald's  picture  every  night. 

"  Oh,  please!  "  cried  Phebe. 

"  But  who  is  this  Gerald  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Whit- 
tridge.  "  Does  he  live  here?" 

"  No,  Sceur  Angelique,  and  by  the  way  he 
is  not  he  at  .all,  but  she,  and  will  be  known  in 
history  as  Miss  Geraldine  Vernor.  She  lives  in 
New  York,  rolls  in  wealth,  and  is  one  of  a  large 
family  of  whom  she  is  the  sun-flower.  Let  me 
give  you  her  portrait  as  I  have  it  from  fragmen 
tary  but  copious  descriptions.  She  is,  I  should 
say,  five  feet  eleven  and  three  quarter  inches  in 
height — don't  shake  your  head,  Miss  Phebe,— 
and  slender  in  disproportion.  She  has  the  feet 
of  a  Chinese,  the  hands  of  a  baby,  and  the 
strength  of  a  Jupiter  Ammon.  She  has  hair  six 
yards  long  and  blacker  than  Egyptian  darkness. 
She  has  a  forehead  so  low  it  rests  upon  her  eye 
brows,  which,  by  the  way,  have  been  ruled 


44  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

straight  across  the  immeasurable  breadth  of  it 
with    a   T   square.     She    has  eyes  bluer   one 
minute  than  the   grotto  at  Capri,  greener  the 
next  than  grass  in  June,  grayer  the  next  than  a 
November  day,  and  so  on   in  turn  through  all 
the  prismatic  colors.     Her  eyelashes  are  only 
not  quite  so  long  as  her  hair.     She  has  a  mouth 
which  would  strike  you  as  large, — it  is  five  and  a 
half  inches  across, — but  when  she  speaks,  and 
you  hear  the  combined  wisdom  of  Solomon,  and 
Plato,  and  Socrates,  and  Solon,  and  the  rest  of 
the  ancients  (not  to  mention  the  moderns),  falling 
from   her   lips,  your  only  wonder  is  that  her 
mouth  keeps  within    its  present  limits.      Her 
nose — Miss  Phebe,  can  it  be  ?     Is  it  possible 
you  have  left  out  her  nose  ?     Sceur  Angelique, 
I  am  forced  to  the  melancholy  conclusion  that 
Gerald  has  none.      Miss   Phebe   would  never 
have  omitted  mentioning  it." 

"  You  may  make  all  the  fun  of  her  and  of  me 
that  you  like,"  said  Phebe,  half  provoked.  "  But 
there  is  not  anybody  else  in  the  world  like 
Gerald  Vernor.  Wait  till  you  see  her.  You 
will  say  then  that  I  was  right,  only  that  I  did 
not  say  enough." 


GERALD.  45 

"  You  sha'n't  tease  her,  Denham.  Tell  me, 
Phebe,  where  did  you  know  this  friend  so  well  ? " 

"  Three  years  ago,  when  she  spent  a  summer 
here,  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  her, — oh,  it  made  it 
such  a  happy  summer,  knowing  her! — and  I 
have  corresponded  with  her  ever  since." 

"  Without  meeting  her  again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  saw  her  twice  last  summer.  I 
went  to  the  train  both  times  to  see  her  as  she 
passed  through." 

"  But  our  trains  don't  pass  through  ;  they 
stop  here." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  I  went  to  Galilee  to  meet 
her  as  she  passed  through  there." 

"  Would  she  have  gone  as  far  as  that  to  meet 
you,  Miss  Phebe  ?  " 

"  That  is  very  different,  Mr.  Haljpway,"  an 
swered  Phebe,  simply.  "  I  am  not  worth  going 
so  far  for.  Besides,  I  don't  expect  people  ever 
to  do  as  much  for  me  as  I  would  for  them." 

"  Denham,  you  are  cruel,"  said  Mrs.  Whit- 
tridge.  "  Phebe,  my  child,  your  love  for  your 
friend  is  to  me  sufficient  proof  that  she  must  be 
lovely.  I  know  I  should  love  her  too." 

Phebe  looked  at   her  gratefully.       Oh,  you 


46  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

would, — you  would  indeed  !  You  could  not  help 
it.  You  would  admire  her  so  much.  There  is 
so  much  in  her." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  forgot,"  interrupted  Denham,  "  I 
did  not  finish  my  portrait.  This  marvellous 
being  is  an  athlete.  She  can  ride  any  Bucepha 
lus  produced,  and  rather  prefers  to  do  so  bare 
back.  She  is  a  Michael  Angelo  at  painting, 
and  has  represented  striking  scenes  from  his 
"  Last  Judgment "  on  a  set  of  after-dinner  coffee 
cups.  She  drives,  she  skates,  she  swims,  she 
rows,  she  sails,  has  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
business,  and  is  up  in  stocks,  is  femininely  mas 
culine  and  masculinely  feminine,  scorns  novels, 
and  can  order  a  dinner,  is  a  churchwoman,  and 
dresses  always  in  the  latest  style.  Is  there  any 
thing  else,  Miss  Phebe  ?  " 

"  Only  one  thing  else  that  I  think  you  have 
rather  forgotten,  Mr.  Hallo  way:  I  love  her  and 
she  is  my  friend." 

"  Miss  Phebe,"  cried  the  young  man  in  in 
stant  contrition,  "have  I  hurt  you  ?  Have  I  been 
thoughtless  enough  for  that  with  my  foolish 
fun  ?  You  know  I  did  not  mean  it.  Will  you 
forgive  me  ?  "  He  held  out  his  hand. 


GERALD.  47 

Phebe  hesitated.  "  Will  you  not  make  fun  of 
her  any  more  ?  And  will  you  like  her  if  she 
comes  ?  You  know  she  may  come  here  this 
summer  ;  there  is  just  a  chance  of  it.  Will  you 
promise  ?  " 

"  I  can  safely  promise  to  like  any  one  whom 
you  like,  I  know,  Miss  Phebe.  Sceur  Angelique, 
make  this  stubborn  child  give  me  her  hand.  It 
is  not  fitting  that  I  crave  absolution  so  abjectly." 

"  You  are  two  silly  children  together,"  said 
Soeur  Angelique,  rising  and  laughing.  "  You 
may  settle  your  quarrels  as  you  can  while  I 
order  tea." 

"  Miss  Phebe,  have  I  really  vexed  you  so 
much  ?  "  asked  the  young  man,  earnestly,  as  his 
sister  left  the  room.  "  You  must  know  I  would 
not  do  that  for  the  world." 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  hurt  or  vex  me  in 
any  way,"  said  Phebe,  "  excepting  only  through 
Gerald.  For  you  don't  know  how  I  love  her, 
Mr.  Halloway.  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  I  think,  oh,  more — almost  more — than 
any  one  else  in  the  world." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  a  love 
to  envy  her."  Phebe  was  still  looking  up  at 


48  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

him  from  her  low  stool,  her  face  raised  as  if  in 
appeal.  She  always  looked  very  young  for  her 
years,  and  now  she  seemed  not  more  than  a 
child  of  sixteen  in  the  waning  light.  He  could 
not  help  it  this  time.;  he  laid  his  hand  very 
lightly  for  one  briefest  instant  on  her  pretty 
hair.  "  But  you  will  not  be  less  friends  with  me 
because  I  like  you  best  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  ever  be  less  friends  with  you," 
Phebe  replied,  soberly.  "  I  don't  change  so." 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  I  know  you  do  not.  Nor 
do  I." 

And  then  he  moved  away  from  her,  and 
began  telling  an  irresistibly  comic  story  about  a 
call  he  had  made  on  a  poor  woman  that  after 
noon  (he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  help  see 
ing  the  ludicrous  side  of  every  thing),  and  from 
one  subject  they  passed  to  another,  and  when 
Sceur  Angelique  summoned  them  to  tea,  she 
found  her  reverend  brother  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  in  the  full  swing  of  a  chorus 
from  "The  Pirates,"  with  Phebe  whistling  the 
liveliest  possible  accompaniment,  and  both  of 
them  gesticulating  wildly.  He  stopped  with  a 
laugh  as  his  sister  appeared  in  the  door- way. 


GERALD.  49 

"  Don't  be  shocked,  Soeur  Angelique.  I  shut 
the  window  lest  Mrs.  Upjohn  should  chance  to 
go  by  and  hear  me.  She  would  telegraph  the 
Bishop.  I  am  only  resting.  It  wore  me  out 
working  for  Miss  Phebe's  pardon.  No ;  wait  a 
moment,  Sceur  Angelique.  Don't  let  's  go  to 
tea  instantly.  I  would  rather  quiet  down  a 
little  before  I  go  in  and  say  grace."  He  took 
up  a  chance  book  from  the  table,  and  turning  to 
the  window  to  catch  the  light,  read  a  few  lines 
to  himself,  then  threw  it  down,  and  came  for 
ward  with  a  smile.  "  There,  I  am  ready  now. 
Take  my  arm,  Sceur  Angelique.  Miss  Phebe, 
will  you  come,  please?" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MRS.    UPJOHN'S    ENTERTAINMENT. 

MRS.  UPJOHN  was  going  to  give  an 
entertainment.  She  was  about  to  open 
the  hospitable  doors  of  the  great  house  upon  the 
hill,  which  seemed  to  have  chosen  that  pre 
eminence  that  it  might  the  better  overlook  the 
morals  of  its  neighbors.  Joppa  held  its  breath 
in  charmed  suspense.  The  question  was  not, 
Will  I  be  asked  ?  that  was  affirmatively  settled 
for  every  West-End  Joppite  of  party-going 
years  ;  nor  was  it,  What  shall  I  wear  ?  which 
was  determined  once  for  all  at  the  beginning  of 
the  season  ;  but,  What  will  be  done  with  me 
when  I  get  there  ?  For  to  go  to  Mrs.  Upjohn's 
was  not  the  simple  thing  that  it  sounded.  She 
wished  it  to  be  distinctly  understood  that  she 
did  not  ask  people  to  her  house  for  their 
amusement,  but  for  their  moral  and  spiritual 
improvement ;  any  one  could  be  amused  any- 

50 


MKS.    UPJOHN' S   ENTERTAINMENT.  5 1 

where,  but  she  wished  to  show  her  guests  that 
there  were  pleasanter  things  than  pleasure  to 
be  had  even  in  social  gatherings,  and  to  teach 
them  to  hunger  and  thirst  after  better  than 
meat  and  drink,  while  at  the  same  time  she  took 
pains  always  to  provide  a  repast  as  superior  to 
the  general  run  as  her  sentiments,  quite  atoning 
to  the  Joppites  for  the  spiritual  accompaniments 
to  her  feast  by  its  material  and  solid  magnifi 
cence,  which  lingered  appetizingly  in  their 
memories  long  after  they  had  settled  their  con 
sequent  doctors'  bills.  Yes,  the  Joppites  were 
not  asked  to  Mrs.  Upjohn's  to  eat  and  drink 
only,  or  merely  to  have  a  good  time,  with  what 
ever  ulterior  intentions  of  so  doing  they  may 
have  gone  thither.  They  were  asked  for  a 
purpose, — a  purpose  which  it  was  vain  to  guess, 
and  impossible  to  escape.  Go  they  must,  and 
be  improved  they  must,  bon  gre  mat  gre,  and 
enjoy  themselves  they  would  if  they  could. 

So  there  were  mingled  feelings  abroad  when 
Mrs.  Upjohn's  neatly  written  invitations  found 
their  way  into  each  of  the  West-End  houses, 
embracing  natives  and  strangers  alike  in  their 
all-hospitable  sweep,  and  even  creeping  into 


52  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

some  outlying  less  aristocratic  quarters,  where 
confusion  worse  confounded,  in  the  shape  of  re 
furbishing  and  making  over,  followed  agoniz 
ingly  in  their  wake.  The  invitations  were 
indited  by  Miss  Maria  Upjohn,  it  being  an  op 
portunity  to  improve  that  young  lady's  hand 
writing  which  her  mother  could  not  have 
conscientiously  suffered  to  pass,  and  stated  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reuben  O.  Upjohn  requested  the 
honor  of  your  company  on  Thursday,  July  i/j-th, 
punctually  at  four  o'clock.  R.  S.  V.  P.  Joppa 
immediately  R.  S.  V.  P.'d  that  it  would  feel 
flattered  to  present  itself  at  that  hour,  and  then 
looked  anxiously  around  and  asked  itself"  What 
will  it  be  this  time  ?  "  The  day  dawned,  and 
still  the  great  question  agitated  public  minds 
unsolved. 

"  There  is  n't  a  word  to  be  coaxed  or  threat 
ened  out  of  Maria,"  said  Bell  Masters.  "  I  be 
lieve  it 's  something  too  awful  to  tell.  Mr.  De 
Forest,  can't  you  hazard  a  guess  ?  " 

Mr.  Ogden  De  Forest  was  lazily  strolling  past 
the  Masters'  front  steps,  where  a  knot  of  girls 
had  gathered  after  a  game  of  lawn  tennis,  and 
were  imbibing  largely  of  lemonade,  which  was 


MRS.    UPJOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  53 

being  fabricated  on  the  spot,  according  to  de 
mand,  by  Phebe  and  Janet  Mudge.  The  spoons 
stopped  clinking  in  the  various  glasses  as  Bell 
thus  audaciously  called  out  to  the  gentleman. 
He  was  not  a  Joppite  by  either  birth  or  educa 
tion  ;  indeed,  he  had  but  lately  arrived  on  his 
first  visit  as  a  summer  guest,  and  was  hardly 
known  to  anybody  personally  as  yet,  though 
there  was  not  a  girl  in  the  place  but  was  already 
perfectly  well  aware  of  his  existence,  and  had 
placed  him  instantly  as  "  one  of  the  very  swellest 
of  the  swells."  He  was  a  short,  dark,  well- 
dressed  man,  and  so  exceedingly  handsome  that 
every  feminine  heart  secretly  acknowledged 
that  only  to  have  the  right  to  bow  to  him  would 
be  a  joy  and  pride  indescribable.  And  here 
was  Bell,  who  had  accidentally  been  introduced 
to  him  the  day  before,  calling  to  him  as  uncere 
moniously  as  if  he  were  Dick  Hardcastle  or 
Jake  Dexter.  He  turned  at  her  voice  and  paused 
at  the  gate,  lifting  his  hat.  "  I  beg  you  pardon, 
Miss  Masters,  you  called  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bell.     "  Have  some  lemonade?" 

"  No,  thanks." 

"  Come  in." 


54  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Thanks,  not  this  morning.  I  shall  see  you 
later  at  Mrs.  Upjohn's,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  you  '11  see  us  all  later,  said  Miss  Bell, 
fishing  out  a  lemon-seed  from  her  goblet. 
"  We  shall  have  on  different  dresses,  and  you  '11 
be  offering  us  lemonade  instead  of  our  offering 
it  to  you.  Take  a  good  look  at  us  so  as  to  see 
how  much  prettier  we  are  now  than  we  shall  be 
then." 

Mr.  De  Forest  obeyed  literally,  staring  tran 
quilly  and  critically  at  each  in  turn,  his  glance 
returning  slowly  to  the  young  lady  of  the  house. 
"  Unless  you  introduce  me  to  your  friends  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  tell  them  so,"  he  replied,  in 
the  slow,  deliberate  voice  that  seemed  always 
to  have  a  ring  of  suppressed  sarcasm  in  it,  no 
matter  what  he  said. 

"  Then  I  '11  certainly  not  introduce  you,"  said 
Bell,  composedly,  with  a  saucy  shot  at  him  from 
her  handsome  black  eyes.  "  And  so  I  '11  be  the 
only  girl  to  get  the  compliment.  Phebe,  more 
sugar,  please." 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  work  one  up  between 
now  and  then  regardless  of  cost.  Four  o'clock, 
I  believe.  What  is  it  to  be  ?  A  dance  ? " 


MRS.    UP  JOHN'S   ENTERTAINMENT.  55 

"  Holy  Moses  !  at  Mrs.  Upjohn's !  " 

"Oh,  she  does  n't  go  in  for  that  kind  of 
thing  ?  A  card-party,  then  ?  " 

"  Great  heavens !  Mr.  De  Forest,  are  you. 
mad  ?  I  don't  doubt  she  struggles  with  herself 
over  every  visiting  card  that  she  uses, — and 
playing-cards !  " 

"  Theatricals,  then  ?  " 

Bell  gave  a  positive  howl.  "Theatricals! 
Hear  him,  girls  !  " 

"We  hear  well  enough.  You  don't  give 
us  a  chance  to  do  any  thing  but  listen,"  said 
Amy  Duckworth,  pointedly. 

"  My  dear,  you  '11  converse  all  the  more  brill 
iantly  this  afternoon  for  a  brief  period  of  silence 
now,"  said  Bell,  sweetly.  "  Mr.  De  Forest,  you 
are  not  happy  in  your  guesses." 

"  I  have  exhausted  them,  unless  it  is  to  be  a 
musicale" 

"  No.  That  's  what  we  are  going  to  have 
to-morrow  ourselves.  I  sing,  you  know." 

"  Do  you?     Well,  a  garden  party  perhaps?" 

"That  's  what  the  Ripleys  are  going  to  have 
Thursday." 

"  Then,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  there  is  nothing 


$6  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

left  for  it  to  be  except  a  failure,"  said  De  Forest, 
lifting  his  arms  off  the  gate.  "  And,  in  view  of 
so  much  coming  dissipation,  I  feel  constrained 
to  retire  and  seek  a  little  preparatory  repose. 
Good-morning,  Miss  Masters." 

"  How  hateful  not  to  introduce  him,  Bell ! 
And  when  he  distinctly  asked  you  to !  How 
abominably  mean  of  you  !  How  selfish,  how 
horrid !  /  would  n't  have  done  so,"  broke  out 
in  an  indignant  chorus,  as  the  gentleman 
walked  off. 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  be  such  a  goose  as 
to  go  shares  in  the  handsomest  man  Joppa  ever 
laid  eyes  on,  so  long  as  I  can  keep  him  to 
myself?"  said  Bell,  honestly.  "Fish  for  your 
selves,  girls.  The  sea  is  open  to  all,  and  you 
may  each  land  another  as  good." 

Phebe's  lip  curled  very  disdainfully.  What  a 
fuss  to  make  over  a  man,  and  how  Bell  had 
changed  in  the  last  few  years  ! 

"  Well,  keep  him,  if  you  can,  but  I  '11  be  even 
with  you  yet,"  said  Amy,  with  an  ominous 
smile.  "  And  what  luck !  Here  comes  Mr. 
Moulton  now,  and  I  know  him  and  you  don't, 
and  I  '11  pay  you  off  on  the  spot.  Good-morn 
ing,  Mr.  Moulton." 


MKS.    UP  JOHN'S   ENTERTAINMENT.  $? 

The  young  gentleman  stopped,  in  his  turn,  at 
the  gate  as  Amy  spoke  to  him. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Duckworth,  I  was  on  my  way  to 
call  on  you." 

"  I  will  go  home  with  you  in  a  minute,"  said 
Amy,  graciously.  "  I  would  n't  miss  your  call 
for  any  thing.  But  first  let  me  introduce  you 
to  my  friends.  Miss  Mudge,  Mr.  Moulton,— 
Miss  Lane,  the  Misses  Dexter.  You  will  meet 
us  all  again  at  Mrs.  Upjohn's.  Of  course,  you 
are  going  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  now  I  am  told  that  I  shall  meet 
you  there,  and  if  you  will  promise  that  I  sha'n't 
be  called  upon  to  do  any  thing  remarkable.  I 
have  heard  alarming  reports." 

"  That  is  out  of  any  one's  power  to  promise," 
replied  Miss  Duckworth.  "  No  genius  is  safe 
from  her." 

"  Amy,  love,"  broke  in  Bell,  with  infinite 
gentleness  of  tone  and  manner,  "  you  have 
forgotten  to  present  your  friend  to  me,  and  I 
cannot  be  so  impolite  as  to  leave  him  standing 
outside  my  own  gate.  I  am  Miss  Masters,  Mr. 
Moulton.  Pray  excuse  the  informality,  and 
come  in  to  share  our  lemonade." 


$8  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Mr.  Moulton,  nothing  loath,  accordingly  came 
in,  took  his  glass,  and  sat  himself  just  where 
Bell  directed,  on  a  step  at  her  feet.  Amy  col 
ored,  and  there  was  a  subdued  titter  somewhere 
in  the  background,  and  Bell  calmly  resumed  the 
reins  of  the  conversation.  "  No,  there  is  no 
knowing  what  we  shall  be  put  through  this 
afternoon.  One  time  when  Mrs.  Upjohn  had 
got  us  all  safely  inside  her  doors,  she  divided  us 
smartly  into  two  classes,  set  herself  in  the  middle, 
and  announced  that  we  were  there  for  a  spell 
ing  bee.  We  should  n't  say  we  had  n't  learned 
something  at  her  house.  And  upon  my  word 
we  did  learn  something.  Never  before  or  since 
have  I  heard  such  merciless  words  as  she  dealt 
us  out.  My  hair  stands  on  end  still  when  I 
recollect  the  horrors  I  underwent  that  day." 

"  I  '11  smuggle  in  a  dictionary,"  declared  Mr. 
Moulton.  "  I  '11  be  ready  for  her." 

"  No  use.  She  never  runs  twice  in  the  same 
groove.  It  's  only  sure  not  to  be  a  spelling  bee 
this  time." 

"  When  we  last  went  there  it  turned  out  to  be 
a  French  soiree"  said  one  of  the  Misses  Dexter, 
"and  she  announced  that  there  would  be  a 


MRS.   UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  S9 

penny's  fine  collected  at  the  end  of  the  evening 
for  each  English  word  spoken." 

"  Proceeds  to  go  to  a  lately  imported  poor 
family,"  added  the  sister  Dexter.  "  There  was 
quite  a  sum  raised,  and  the  head  of  the  family 
decamped  with  it  two  days  after,  for  Heaven 
knows  where,  leaving  his  wife  and  infants  on 
Mrs.  Upjohn's  hands  poorer  than  ever." 

But  Mrs.  Upjohn's  entertainment  proved  to 
be  neither  orthographic  nor  linguistic.  The 
guests  arrived  punctually  as  bidden,  and  their 
hostess,  clad  in  her  most  splendid  attire,  re 
ceived  them  with  her  most  gracious  manner. 
There  was  nothing  to  foretell  the  fate  that 
awaited  them.  Her  tall,  awkward  daughter 
stood  nervously  by  her  side.  Mr.  Upjohn,  too, 
kept  there  valiantly  for  a  time,  then  his  round, 
ample  figure  and  jolly  face  disappeared  some 
where,  under  chaperonage  of  Mrs.  Bruce, 
his  latest  admiration.  But  no  one  ever  thought 
of  Mr.  Upjohn  as  the  host,  any  way  ;  he  seemed 
rather  to  be  a  sort  of  favored  guest  in  his  own 
parlor ;  and  his  place  was  more  than  made 
good  by  Mr.  Hardcastle,  who,  standing  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  exactly  as  he  always  stood 


60  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

in  the  centre  of  everybody's  room  on  such  an 
occasion,  appeared  himself  to  be  quite  master  of 
ceremonies,  from  the  grand  way  in  which  he 
stepped  forward  to  meet  each  guest  and  hope 
he  or  she  "  would  make  out  to  enjoy  it."  The 
rooms  filled  rapidly,  and  before  long  Mrs.  Up 
john  turned  from  the  door  and  stood  an  instant 
reviewing  her  guests  with  the  triumphant  mien 
of  a  victorious  general.  Then  she  advanced 
solemnly  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  displacing 
Mr.  Hardcastle,  who  graciously  made  way  and 
waved  his  hand  to  signify  to  her  his  permission 
to  proceed. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  great  lady,  with  her 
deep,  positive  voice,  drawing  her  imposing  fig 
ure  to  its  fullest  height,  "  as  you  know,  it  is 
never  my  way  to  give  parties.  I  leave  that  for 
the  rest  of  you  to  do.  When  I  ask  you  to  my 
house,  it  is  with  a  higher  motive  than  to  make 
a  few  hours  lie  less  heavily  on  your  hands." 

"  Dear  soul !  "  muttered  Dick  Hardcastle  to 
his  crony,  Jake.  "  Nobody  could  have  the  con 
science  to  charge  her  with  ever  having  lightened 
them  to  us." 

"  And  therefore,"  continued  the  lady,  gazing 


MKS.    UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  6 1 

around  upon  her  victims  with  a  benignant  smile, 
"without  further  prelude,  I  will  inform  you  for 
what  object  I  have  asked  you  to  honor  me  with 
your  presence  this  afternoon." 

She  paused,  and  a  cold  chill  ran  through  the 
company.  What  would  she  do  ?  Would  she 
open  on  them  with  the  Westminster  Catechism 
this  time,  or  set  them  to  shelling  peas  for  some 
poor  man's  dinner,  or  would  she  examine  them 
in  the  multiplication  table  ?  A  few  had  run  it 
hastily  over  before  leaving  home  to  make  sure 
that  they  were  ready  for  such  an  emergency. 

"  I  had  thought  first,"  Mrs.  Upjohn  pro 
ceeded,  "of  a  series  of  games  as  instructive  as 
delightful,  games  of  history  and  geography,  and 
one  particularly  of  astronomy,  which  I  am  per 
suaded  would  be  very  helpful.  It  brought  out  the 
nature  of  the  spectroscope  in  a  remarkably  clear 
and  intelligent  light,  and  after  a  few  rounds  I 
am  sure  none  of  us  could  ever  again  have  for 
gotten  those  elusive  figures  relative  to  the  dis 
tances  and  proportions  of  the  planets.  How 
ever,  that  must  be  for  another  time.  For  to 
day,  I  thought  it  would  be  a  pleasure  as  well  as 
a  benefit  to  us  all  to  learn  something  about  a  gifted 


62  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

and  noble  person  who,  I  am  surprised  to  find,  is 
not  so  well  known  in  Joppa  as  she  should  be, 
and  whom,  I  am  convinced,  we  should  all  be  in 
finitely  the  better  and  happier  for  knowing.  I 
have,  therefore,  persuaded  Mr.  Webb,  with 
whose  powers  as  a  reader  long  years  of  ac 
quaintanceship  have  so  pleasantly  familiarized 
us,  to  read  to  us  this  afternoon  extracts  from 
the  '  Life  and  Letters  of  the  Baroness  Bunsen.' ' 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  ejaculated  Dick  beneath 
his  breath,  "who  's  that  ?  " 

"  Hush,"  whispered  Jake.  "  I  've  got  a  novel 
of  Miss  Braddon's  in  my  pocket.  I  thought  it 
might  come  in  handy.  That  '11  help  us  through 
till  feed  time." 

"  You  are  all  familiar  with  the  name,  of 
course,"  pursued  Mrs.  Upjohn,  smiling  gra 
ciously  around  the  dismayed  circle  of  her 
guests.  "  The  book  has  been  in  the  library 
this  long  time  past,  and  observing  with  regret 
that  only  its  first  fifty  pages  had  been  cut,  I 
caught  at  this  invaluable  opportunity  to  make 
you  further  acquainted  with  it." 

Mr.  Webb  now  came  forward,  a  thick,  green- 
bound  volume  in  his  hand,  and  a  look  on  his 


MRS.    UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  63 

face  as  if  he  were  about  to  open  the  proceed 
ings  with  a  prayer,  but  Mrs.  Upjohn  held  up 
her  hand. 

"  One  moment,  please,  before  we  begin. 
We  ladies  are  so  unaccustomed  to  sitting  with 
idle  hands,  even  when  listening  to  so  absorbing 
a  theme  as  the  virtues  of  this  truly  excellent 
Christian  wife  and  mother,  that  I  thought  it 
would  be  a  kindness  to  ourselves  to  provide 
some  simple  work  which  should  occupy  our 
fingers  and  at  the  same  time  be  in  itself  a 
worthy  object  of  industry.  Maria,  my  dear." 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  appalling  ;  one 
could  almost  hear  the  shiver  of  apprehension 
running  down  the  silk-  and  muslin-clad  backs. 
The  sign  was  given,  however,  by  the  docile 
Maria,  and  immediately  two  enormous  baskets 
were  brought  in  :  one,  the  smaller,  containing 
every  possible  implement  for  unlimited  sewing 
by  unlimited  hands ;  the  other,  of  alarming 
dimensions,  filled  to  overflowing  with  shapeless 
and  questionable  garments  of  a  canton-flannel 
so  coarse,  so  yellow,  so  indestructible,  so  alto 
gether  unwearable  and  hideous,  that  had  it  been 
branded  "  charity  "  in  flaming  letters,  its  object 


64  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

could  not  have  been  more  plainly  designated. 
Mrs.  Upjohn  lifted  the  top  article  and  unfolded 
it  lovingly.  It  was  a  night-dress,  atoning  in 
lavishness  of  material  for  deficiency  in  grace  of 
make,  and  would  have  been  a  loose  fit  for  the 
wife  of  the  giant  Chang. 

"  These,  ladies,"  she  said,  "  as  you  will  have 
guessed,  are  for  the  winter  wear  of  our  parish 
poor.  Though  you  are  not  all  so  fortunate  as 
to  belong  to  our  church,  still  I  feel  there  is  not 
one  of  you  here  but  will  be  more  than  glad  to 
help  forward  so  blessed  a  charity  as  clothing 
the  naked"  (Mrs.  Upjohn,  in  view  of  the  nature 
of  the  garments,  spoke  even  more  literally  than 
she  intended),  "  who  none  the  less  need  your 
ministrations  whether  you  worship  with  us  or 
apart.  Maria,  my  child,  Bell,  Phebe,  Mattie,  will 
you  kindly  distribute  the  work  among  the  ladies? 
There  is  another  basket  ready  outside  if  the 
supply  gives  out.  Dick,  I  would  like  you  to 
carry  around  the  thimbles.  Jake,  here  are  the 
needles  and  the  spools  and  the  scissors.  If  I 
may  be  permitted,  ladies,  I  would  suggest  that 
we  should  all  begin  with  the  button-holes." 

Nothing  but  the  thought  of  the  recompense 


MRS.    UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  65 

in  the  coming  supper  could  have  sustained  Mrs. 
Upjohn's  doomed  guests  in  the  prospect  before 
them.  Extracts  from  Baroness  Bunsen,  and 
buttonholes  in  canton-flannel  charity  night 
gowns,  and  a  hot  July  afternoon,  made  a  sum  of 
misery  that  was  almost  too  great  a  tax  upon 
even  Joppian  amiability. 

"  I  say  it  's  a  shame !  "  cried  Bell  Masters,  in 
unconcealed  wrath.  "  The  idea  of  springing 
such  a  trap  on  us !  Let  Mrs.  Upjohn's  parish 
sew  for  its  own  poor,  /won't  crease  my  fresh 
dress  holding  that  great,  thick  lump  on  my  lap 
all  the  afternoon.  I  'm  not  going  to  be  swindled 
into  helping  in  this  fashion." 

"  Oh,  yes  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Halloway,  bub 
bling  over  with  suppressed  merriment  at  the 
intense  fun  of  it  all.  "  There  is  n't  one  of  you 
here  who  will  refuse.  I  never  knew  any  thing 
so  delightful  and  novel  in  my  whole  life. 
This  condensed  combination  in  one  afternoon 
party  of  charity,  literature,  and  indigestion  is 
masterly.  Miss  Mudge,  here  is  a  seat  for  you 
right  by  Miss  Masters.  Miss  Phebe,  let  me  find 
you  a  chair." 

And  in  a  few  moments,  simply,  it  seemed,  by 


66  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

the  natural  law  ol  gravitation,  without  any  engi 
neering  whatever,  Mrs.  Upjohn's  guests  had  re 
solved  themselves  into  two  distinct  parties,  the 
elders  all  in  the  drawing-room,  the  younger 
ones  in  the  parlor  across  the  hall,  too  far  off 
from  Mr.  Webb  for  their  gay  whispering  to  dis 
turb  that  worthy  as  he  boldly  plunged  headlong 
at  his  work,  to  do  or  die  written  on  every 
feature  of  his  thin,  long  face. 

"  So  this  is  what  the  party  turned  out,  Miss 
Masters,  is  it  ? "  said  Moulton,  pulling  his 
moustache  as  he  stood  up  beside  her.  "  A  first- 
class  Dorcas  society." 

"  Charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins,"  said 
Bell,  crossly,  giving  a  vindictive  snap  with  her 
scissors,  "  but  it  won't  begin  to  cover  the 
enormity  of  Mrs.  Upjohn's  transgressions  on 
this  occasion.  You  gentlemen  must  be  very 
devoted  to  atone  to  us  for  the  button-holes. 
There  's  Mr.  De  Forest  standing  in  the  other 
room  looking  as  if  he  wished  he  were  dead. 
Go  and  bring  him  here." 

Thus  summoned,  Mr.  De  Forest  came  leisure 
ly  enough,  looking,  if  possible,  a  little  more 
languid  and  blase  than  he  did  in  the  morning. 


MRS.    UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  6? 

Bell  instantly  made  a  place  for  him  on  the  sofa 
by  her  side. 

"  Thanks,  I  would  rather  stand.  I  can  take 
it  all  in  better." 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Bell,  after  a  pause,  looking 
saucily  up  at  him.  "  Was  I  right  this  morning  ? 
Did  n't  we  look  prettier  then  ?  " 

"  Infinitely." 

Bell  colored  rather  angrily,  and  Phebe 
laughed  outright.  Mr.  De  Forest  favored  her 
with  a  stare,  chewed  the  end  of  his  side- 
whiskers  reflectively  a  moment,  then  deliberate 
ly  walked  over  to  her.  "  Miss  Lane,  I  believe." 

Phebe  bowed,  but  somewhat  stiffly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  continued  De  Forest,  imper- 
turbably.  "  There  does  n't  seem  to  be  any  one 
to  introduce  us,  and  we  know  perfectly  well 
who  we  each  are,  you  know,  and  I  wanted  to 
ask  about  a  mutual  friend  of  ours, — Miss 
Vernor." 

Phebe  brightened  and  softened  instantly. 
"  Oh!  "  she  exclaimed,  dropping  her  work,  "  you 
know  her?  you  have  seen  her  ?  lately  ?  " 

"  I  know  her,  yes,  quite  well.  I  saw  her 
some  weeks  since.  I  understood  then  that 


68  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

there  was  a  little  talk  of  her  coming  up  here 
this  summer.  One  of  those  fearful  children, 
Oily,  or  Hal,  or  some  one  of  the  superfluous 
young  ones,  was  a  little  off  condition, — not  very 
well,  you  know, — and  the  doctor  said  he 
must  n't  go  with  the  rest  to  the  sea-shore, 
and  she  mentioned  bringing  him  up  here  to  re 
cruit.  I  heard  her  mention  your  name,  too,  and 
did  n't  know  but  you  might  have  heard  some 
thing  of  it." 

"  I  have,  I  have  !  "  cried  Phebe,  her  face  all 
aglow,  "  She  is  coming, — she  and  Oily.  She 
is  going  to  stay  with  me.  I  wrote  and  begged 
her  to." 

"  Ah,  that  will  be  very  pleasant  for  you.  Do 
you  expect  her  soon  ?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Ah !  "  Mr.  De  Forest  ruminated  silently  a 
moment.  "  She  '11  be  bored  to  death  up  here, 
won't  she  ?  "  he  asked,  presently. 

"  Then  she  can  go  home  again,"  replied 
Phebe,  shortly. 

"True,  true,"  said  her  companion,  thought 
fully.  "  I  forgot  that.  And  she  probably  will. 
It  would  be  like  her  to  go  if  it  bored  her." 


MRS,   UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  69 

"  Only  there  's  Oily,"  said  Phebe,  grimly,  the 
light  fading  out  of  her  face  a  little.  "  She  '11 
have  to  stay  for  him." 

"  Oh,  no.  She  can  put  him  to  board  some 
where  and  leave  him.  Miss  Vernor  does  n't 
concern  herself  overmuch  with  the  young  ones. 
They  are  an  awful  nuisance  to  her." 

"  She  does  every  thing  for  them.  You  can't 
know  her,"  said  Phebe,  indignantly.  "  Did 
you  say  you  knew  her  well,  Mr.  De  Forest  ?  " 

"  I  don't  remember  just  what  I  said,  Miss 
Lane,  but  it  would  have  been  the  truth  if  I  did, 
and  I  generally  speak  the  truth  when  it  's 
equally  convenient.  Yes,  I  do  know  Miss 
Vernor  very  well,  and  I  have  worsted  her  in 
a  great  many  arguments, — you  know  her  argu 
mentative  turn,  perhaps?  If  you  will  allow  me, 
I  will  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  upon  her 
when  she  comes, — and  upon  yourself,  if  I  may 
have  the  pleasure." 

"  Not  if  you  come  with  the  intention  of  put 
ting  Gerald  out  of  conceit  with  Joppa.  I  want 
her  to  stay  a  long,  long  time." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Miss  Lane.  I  '11  do  my 
best  to  help  keep  her  here,  so  long,  at  least,  as  I 
stay  myself.  '  Apres  cela  le  deluge!  " 


70  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  I  don't  speak  French." 

"  Ah  ?  No  ?  I  regret  it.  You  might  have 
assisted  me  in  my  genders.  I  am  never  alto 
gether  sure  of  them." 

"  Mr.  De  Forest,"  called  Bell,  imperatively, 
from  the  other  side  of  the  room,  displeased  at 
the  defalcation  of  her  knight,  "  I  want  to  intro 
duce  you  to  Miss  Mudge." 

Miss  Mudge  tried  to  make  Bell  understand 
by  frantic  pantomime  that  she  had  n't  meant 
just  now, — any  time  would  do, — but  Bell  chose 
it  should  be  just  now  ;  and  slightly  lifting  his 
eyebrows,  Mr.  De  Forest  took  his  handsome 
person  slowly  back  to  Bell  to  make  an  almost 
impertinently  indifferent  bow  to  the  new  claim 
ant  upon  him. 

Mr.  Halloway  had  been  standing  near  Phebe, 
too  near  not  to  overhear  the  conversation,  and 
he  turned  to  her  now  quickly. 

"  So  this  accounts  for  your  beaming  face,"  he 
said  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  took  a  seat  just  back 
of  her  in  the  window  niche.  "  The  mysterious 
Gerald  is  really  coming,  then.  I  wondered 
what  had  happened  as  soon  as  I  saw  you.  Why 
did  you  not  tell  me  ?  " 


MKS.   UPJOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  71 

"  I  was  only  waiting  till  I  had  the  chance," 
she  answered,  all  the  brightness  coming  back 
into  her  bonny  face  as  she  smiled  up  at  him. 
"  Do  you  think  I  could  keep  any  thing  so  nice 
from  you  for  long  ?  It  seems  to  make  every 
thing  nicer  when  you  know  it  too.  She  is  com 
ing  to-morrow, — only  think, — to-morrow, — just 
twenty-one  hours  more  now.  I  can  hardly  wait! " 

"  It  will  be  a  great  happiness  to  her,  surely, 
to  see  you  again,"  said  Denham. 

"  That 's  what  she  writes  in  her  letter.  At 
least  she  says  :  '  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you 
again,  Phebe,  my  dear.1  Is  n't  that  nice  ? 
'  Phebe,  my  dear,'  she  says.  That  is  a  great 
deal  for  Gerald  to  say." 

"  Is  it  ?  But  I  believe  some  young  ladies  are 
less  effusive  with  their  pens  than  with  their 
tongues." 

"  It  is  n't  Gerald's  nature  ever  to  be  effusive. 
But  oh,  I  'm  so  glad  she  's  coming !  I  only  got 
her  letter  last  night.  See,  does  n't  she  write  a 
nice  hand  ? "  And  cautiously,  lest  any  one 
else  should  see  too,  Phebe  slipped  an  envelope 
into  Denham's  hand.  He  bent  back  behind  the 
lace  curtains  to  inspect  it. 


72  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Do  you  generally  carry  about  your  letters 
in  your  pocket,  Miss  Phebe  ?  " 

"  No,  only  Gerald's.  I  love  so  always  to 
have  something  of  hers  near  me.  Is  n't  it  a 
nice  hand  ?  " 

Halloway  looked  silently  at  the  upright,  an 
gular,  large  script.  "  It 's  legible,  certainly." 

"  But  you  don't  like  it  ?  " 

"  Miss  Phebe,  I  am  torn  between  conflicting 
truth  and  politeness.  It  is  like  a  man's  hand,  if 
I  must  say  something." 

"  And  so  are  her  letters  like  a  man's.  Read 
it  and  see.  Oh,  she  would  n't  mind  !  There  is 
nothing  in  it,  and  yet  somehow  it  seems  just 
like  Gerald.  Do  read  it.  Oh,  I  want  you  to. 
Please,  please  do." 

And  led  half  by  curiosity,  half  by  the  eager 
ness  in  Phebe's  pretty  face,  Denham  opened  the 
letter  and  read,  Phebe  glancing  over  it  with 
him  as  if  she  could  n't  bear  to  lose  sight  of  it  an 
instant. 

"  DEAR  PHEBE,"  so  ran  the  letter,  "  your  favor  of  gth  inst.  rec.  I 
had  no  idea  of  intruding  ourselves  upon  you  when  I  asked  you  to  look 
up  rooms,  but  as  you  seem  really  to  want  us" — ("  seem  !  "  whispered 
Phebe,  putting  her  finger  on  the  word  with  a  pout) — "  I  can  only  say 
we  shall  be  very  glad  to  come  to  you.  You  may  look  for  Oily  and 


MRS.   UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  73 

• 

myself  Friday,  July  rsth,  by  the  P.M.  train.  Oily  is  n't  really  ill,  only 
run  down.  He  is  as  horrid  a  little  bear  as  ever.  All  are  well,  and 
started  last  week  for  Narragansett  Pier.  I  shall  rejoice  to  get  away 
from  the  art  school  and  guilds,  which  keep  on  even  in  this  intem 
perate  weather,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  again,  Phebe,  my  deer." 
(Phebe  looked  up  triumphantly  in  Denham's  face  a  she  reached  the 

words.)     "  Reniember  me  to  Mrs.  Lane  and  Miss ,  I  can't  think 

of  her  name, — Aunt  Lydia,  I  mean. 

"Sincerely  yours, 

"  GERALDINE  VERNOR. 
"P.  S.— Oily  only  drinks  milk." 

Phebe  took  back  the  letter  and  folded  it  up. 
"Well?  "she  said. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Denham,  looking  at  her  and 
smiling. 

"  It 's  just  like  her,"  declared  Phebe.  "  It 's 
so  downright  and  to  the  point.  Gerald  never 
wastes  words." 

"  You  said  it  was  like  a  man's  letter,"  said 
Denham.  "  But  I  must  beg  leave  to  differ  with 
you  there.  I  don't  think  it  is  at  all  such  a  letter 
as  /would  have  written  you,  for  instance." 

"  Of  course  not.  It  would  n't  be  proper  for 
you  to  say  '  Phebe,  my  dear,'  as  Gerald  does. 
Yours  would  have  to  be  a  very  dignified,  pas 
toral  letter." 

"  Yes,  addressed  to  '  My  Lamb/  which  you 
could  n't  object  to  in  a  pastoral  letter  of  course, 


74  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

and  which  sounds  nearly  as  affectionate,  blam 
ing  you  for  having  caused  me  to  lose  the  valu 
able  information  I  might  have  gained  about  the 
Baroness  Bunsen.  I  never  got  much  farther 
than  her  birth  in  that  famous  history.  I  see 
poor  Miss  Delano  casting  longing  glances  in 
here.  I  '11  smuggle  her  in  among  you  young 
people." 

He  departed  on  his  errand  of  mercy,  and 
soon  had  the  timid  little  old-maid  in  the  more 
congenial  atmosphere  of  the  parlor,  where  little 
by  little,  though  in  a  very  stealthy  and  under 
hand  way,  the  talk  grew  more  general,  and  the 
restraint  slackened  more  and  more,  until  sew 
ing  and  reading  were  both  forgotten  and  the 
fun  became  fast  and  furious,  culminating  in  the 
sudden  appearance  of  Jake  Dexter  dressed  up 
as  an  ancient  and  altogether  unlovely  old  woman, 
whom  Dick  Hardcastle  presented  in  a  stage 
whisper  as  "  Baroness  Bunsen  in  the  closing 
chapter,"  and  who  forthwith  proceeded  to  act 
out  in  dumb  show  the  various  events  of  that 
admirable  woman's  life,  as  judiciously  and  sonor 
ously  touched  upon  by  Mr.  Webb  in  the  draw 
ing-room  opposite.  Jake  was  a  born  actor,  and 


MRS.    UPJOHN' S  ENTERTAINMENT.  ?$ 

having  "done  up  "  the  Baroness,  he  proceeded 
to  "do  up "  several  other  noted  historical  char 
acters,  not  omitting  a  few  less  celebrated  contem 
poraries  of  his  own,  each  representation  better 
and  truer  to  life  than  the  last ;  and  winding  up 
with  snatching  away  their  work  from  the  young 
ladies'  not  unwilling  hands,  and  piling  it  in 
heaps  on  the  floor  around  him,  he  sat  himself  in 
the  middle  with  an  armful  hugged  close  and  an 
air  of  comically  mingled  resignation  and  opu 
lence,  and  announced  himself  as  "  a  photo  from 
life  of  ye  destitute  poor  of  Joppa." 

Mrs.  Upjohn  may  have  had  suspicions  that 
all  was  not  going  on  precisely  as  she  had 
planned  in  that  other  half  of  her  domains  which 
she  had  surrendered  to  Maria's  feeble  guardian 
ship,  but  it  certainly  could  not  be  laid  to  her 
blame  if  young  people  would  amuse  themselves 
even  at  her  house.  If  they  wilfully  persisted  in 
neglecting  the  means  of  grace  she  had  con 
scientiously  provided  for  them,  so  much  the 
worse  for  :hem,  not  for  her ;  and  if  Mr.  Up 
john  found  the  contemplation  of  Mrs.  Bruce's 
profile,  and  her  occasional  smiles  at  him  as 
she  bent  over  her  ugly  work,  not  sufficient  of 


7  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

an  indemnity  for  his  enforced  silence,  and  chose 
to  sneak  over  to  the  young  people's  side  and 
enjoy  himself  too,  as  an  inopportune  and 
hearty  guffaw  from  thence  testified  just  at  the 
wrong  moment,  when  Mr.  Webb  had  reached 
the  culminating  point  of  the  Baroness'  death, 
and  was  drawing  tears  from  the  ladies'  eyes  by 
the  irresistible  pathos  of  his  voice, — why,  Mrs. 
Upjohn  owned  in  her  heart  that  it  was  only 
what  might  be  expected  of  him,  and  that  she 
could  n't  help  that  either. 

So  at  last  the  reading  came  to  an  end.  Every 
body  said  it  had  been  unprecedentedly  delight 
ful,  and  they  should  never  forget  that  dear 
Baroness  so  long  as  they  lived,  and  they  thought 
Mrs.  Upjohn  herself  might  have  sat  for  the 
original  of  the  biography,  so  identical  were  her 
virtues  with  those  of  the  departed  saint,  and  so 
exactly  did  she  resemble  her  in  every  particular 
except  just  in 'the  outward  circumstances  of  her 
life.  And  Mrs.  Upjohn  modestly  entreated 
them  to  desist  drawing  so  unworthy  a  compari 
son,  and  said  it  was  an  example  of  a  life  they 
should  each  and  all  do  well  to  imitate  so  far  as 
in  them  lay,  and  then  she  went  about  collecting 


MRS.   UP  JOHN'S  ENTERTAINMENT.  77 

the  nightgowns,  and  (oh,  cruellest  of  all !)  in 
specting  the  button-holes.  It  was  an  excellent 
day's  work,  she  reported,  fanning  herself  vigor 
ously,  and  Miss  Brooks,  as  champion  button 
hole-maker,  having  made  three  more  than  any 
one  else,  should  have  the  post  of  honor  and  be 
taken  in  to  supper  by  Mr.  Upjohn,  who  was 
routed  out  from  the  parlor  for  the  purpose,  very 
red  in  the  face,  and  still  convulsed  with  laugh 
ter.  Mrs.  Bruce  may  have  suspected  this  to  be 
designed  as  a  neat  way  of  cutting  her  out,  but 
there  is  no  knowing  to  what  lengths  a  flippant 
widow's  imagination  will  not  go,  and  any  way 
Mr.  Upjohn  quite  atoned  afterward  for  any 
temporary  neglect,  by  paying  her  the  most 
assiduous  attentions  right  in  the  face  of  his  wife, 
who  apparently  did  not  care  a  straw,  and  only 
thought  her  husband  a  little  more  foolish  than 
usual.  Did  not  everybody  know  that  it  was 
only  Mr.  Upjohn's  way,  and  that  it  did  not 
mean  any  thing  ? 

And  so  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  supper, 
was  announced,  and  Joppa,  as  it  swarmed 
around  the  loaded  tables,  felt  that  its  hour  of 
merited  reward  was  come  ;  and  Mr.  Hardcastle, 


78  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

when  at  last  he  could  eat  and  drink  no  more, 
stood  up  and  pronounced,  in  the  name  of  the 
united  assembly,  that  Mrs.  Upjohn's  entertain 
ment  had  been  a  very,  very  great  success,  as  all 
that  dear  Mrs.  Upjohn  undertook  always  was 
sure  to  be,  and  particularly  those  devilled  crabs 
were  unapproachable  for  perfection.  Nobody 
could  make  him  believe  that  even  the  Baroness 
Bunsen  with  all  her  learning  could  ever  have 
spiced  them  better. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FRIENDS. 

EVERAL  days  later,  as  Mr.  Halloway  was 
leaving  the  rectory  one  afternoon,  he  saw 
Phebe  standing  in  her  door- way,  and  crossed  to 
speak  to  her. 

"  Alone  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling.  "  I  supposed 
that  now  you  would  never  be  without  a 
shadow." 

"  Gerald  is  up-stairs  dressing.  She  is  going 
to  ride  with  Mr.  De  Forest.  He  has  been  to 
see  her  twice  already,  and  you  have  not  called 
yet."  There  was  the  faintest  possible  reproach 
in  her  voice  and  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  really  busy  the  last  few  days, 
Miss  Phebe.  You  may  know  there  is  always 
some  desperate  reason  when  I  am  long  absent. 
But  here  I  am  now.  Shall  I  send  in  my  card 
for  Miss  Vernor?  Must  I  do  it  up  in  New 
York  or  Joppa  style  ?  " 

79 


8O  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Phebe  laughed.  "  Never  mind  the  card, 
Gerald  will  be  down  soon.  It  is  nearly  time, 
and  she  is  always  so  punctual.  What  is  it, 
Oily,  dear?" 

An  ugly  little  boy,  with  a  pale,  pinched  face 
and  impish  eyes,  was  pulling  smartly  at  her  dress. 

"  I  say,  Pheeb,  can  I  have  a  cookie  ?  " 

"  Does  Gerald  let  you  have  cookies  between 
meals,  Oily?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Oily,  unhesitatingly.  "  Al 
ways." 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  broke  in  an  unexpected 
voice  behind, — a  clear,  ringing,  decided  voice. 
"  I  will  not  have  you  tell  such  lies,  Oily !  Why 
will  you  do  it !  " 

I  '11  have  the  cookie  anyhow,"  said  Oily, 
starting  on  a  run.  "  Pheeb  said  I  could,  and 
this  is  Pheeb's  house,  and  I  will." 

"  And  you  won't,"  said  the  voice,  sharply. 
There  was  a  scuffle,  a  rush,  the  sound  of  a  smart 
box  on  the  ear,  a  sudden  childish  howl,  and 
Oily  fled  back  to  Phebe  and  buried  his  face  in 
her  dress.  Phebe  folded  her  arms  protectingly 
around  him,  and  looked  up  appealingly  at  the 
tall,  slender  figure  approaching. 


FRIENDS.  8 1 

"  Oh,  Gerald,  must  you  ?  " 

"  Phebe,  I  can  't  have  you  spoil  that  boy  so. 
I  won't  have  him  a  liar  and  a  gourmand  ;  he 's 
bad  enough  without  that.  Oily,  stop  bawling 
this  moment." 

"  I  won't,"  screamed  Oily.  "  You  hurt  me, 
you  did,  and  if  I  can  't  have  a  cookie  I  '11  cry 
just  as  loud  as  ever  I  can  ;  so  there  !  " 

"  Then  you  '11  cry  in  the  house  and  not  on  the 
front  steps.  I  won't  have  it.  Come  in  imme 
diately." 

And  holding  up  her  habit  with  one  hand,  the 
young  lady  reached  out  with  the  other, — a  very 
small  and  white  but  determined-looking  little 
hand  Denham  noticed  (from  where  he  stood  he 
could  not  see  her  face) — and  wrenching  the  child 
by  no  means  gently  away  from  Phebe,  she 
dragged  him  with  her  toward  the  parlor. 

"I  hate  you!  I  hate  you!  I  hate  you!" 
cried  Oily,  vociferously,  doing  battle  valiantly 
with  hands  and  feet  as  he  went.  "  I  hate  you 
every  day  worse  than  ever!  " 

"  Hate  me  all  you  like,"  said  Gerald,  with 
utmost  coolness  and  disdain.  "I  leave  you 
perfectly  free  in  that  direction,  but  you  sha'n't 


82  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

tell  lies  or  disobey  me.  Now  stay  in  there  and 
be  still." 

And  closing  the  door  on  the  sobbing  culprit, 
she  came  slowly  back  to  Phebe,  still  scowling  and 
pressing  her  lips  firmly  together  as  she  drew  on 
her  gauntlets.  "  Little  wretch !  "  she  muttered. 

"  Gerald,  please,"  said  Phebe,  flushing  scarlet 
with  mortification,  "  here  is  Mr.  Hallo  way.  I 
want  to  introduce  him  to  you." 

Gerald  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  up.  She 
had  not  seen  him  before.  A  fleet,  faint  color 
tinged  her  clear  cheeks  an  instant,  but  there 
was  no  other  sign  of  embarrassment  or  annoy 
ance  as  her  dark  blue  eyes  met  his  with  the 
singularly  penetrating  gaze  with  which  they 
looked  out  on  all  the  world.  There  was  no  de 
nying  it.  With  her  .clear-cut,  aristocratic  face, 
and  her  slim,  straight  figure,  stately  perhaps 
rather  than  graceful,  and  a  trifle  haughty  in  its 
unbending  erectness,  Gerald  Vernor  was  very 
very  handsome. 

"  I  am  happy  to  meet  you  at  last,  Miss  Vernor," 
said  Denham,  with  his  pleasant  smile.  "  But 
you  are  no  stranger  to  me,  I  assure  you.  Miss 
Phebe  made  us  all  friends  of  yours  long  since." 


FRIENDS.  83 

Gerald's  brows  contracted.  *  "  Phebe  is  very 
kind,"  she  said,  with  quite  the  opposite  from 
gratitude  in  her  voice,  "  but  I  hate  to  be  talked 
about  beforehand.  One  starts  on  a  false  basis 
from  the  first.  Besides,  it  gives  every  one  else 
the  advantage  over  one." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Denham,  "  we  can 
not  expect  you  to  know  us  as  well  from  hear 
say.  It  would  be  too  much  to  hope  that  Miss 
Phebe  should  have  had  as  much  to  say  for  any  of 
the  rest  of  us."  He  turned  laughingly  to  Phebe 
as  he  spoke,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
full  of  implicit  faith. 

"  No,"  she  said,  simply  ;  "  I  have  n't  told  Ger 
ald  any  thing  about  you,  only  your  name.  She 
will  find  it  all  out  for  herself  so  much  better 
than  I  can  tell  her." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  very  good  at  finding 
people  out,"  remarked  Gerald,  bluntly,  "  unless 
I  am  extraordinarily  interested  in  them — 

"  Which  I  imagine  you  generally  are  not," 
interrupted  Denham. 

"  True,"  she  answered,  smiling  a  little,  "  which 
I  generally  am  not ;  I  am  content  with  a  very  su 
perficial  knowledge.  The  world  is  crowded  so 


84  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

full,  where  could  one  stop  who  set  out  to  know 
thoroughly  all  he  met  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  bitter  thought  that  you  will  never 
know  more  of  me  than  just  the  color  of  my 
beard,"  said  Denham,  reflectively,  "  but  if  such 
is  your  habit  I  suppose  I  must  resign  myself  to 
it.  Now,  I  am  exactly  the  reverse  from  you  ; 
I  am  always  extraordinarily  interested  in  every 
body." 

"  Ah,  because  as  a  clergyman  you  must  be." 
"  No ;  simply  because  it  happens  to  be  my 
nature.     One   has   one's   individual   character 
istics,  you  know,  quite  independently  of  one's 
profession." 

"  Yes,  in  other  professions  ;  but  in  yours " 

"  But  we  are  men  first,  Miss  Vernor,  after 
ward  clergymen.  Why  may  we  not  keep  our 
distinct  idiosyncrasies,  even  in  our  clerical  uni 
form  ?  " 

Gerald  slashed  her  dress  gently  with  her 
riding- whip.  "  It  seems  to  me  as  if  you  should 
all  be  clergymen  first  and  men  afterward,  fitting 
yourselves  to  the  profession  rather  than  the 
profession  to  you  ;  and  so  by  all  confessedly 
following  one  pattern,  you  would  be  necessarily 


FRIENDS.  85 

drawn  into  a  greater  similitude  with  each  other 
than  any  other  class  of  men.  Ah,  here  is  Mr. 
De  Forest  at  last." 

"  At  last  ?  "  repeated  that  gentleman  as  he 
joined  the  group,  or  rather  paused  just  beyond 
it,  surveying  Gerald  with  a  critical  glance  which 
seemed  to  take  in  accurately  at  one  swift  sweep 
every  least  detail  of  her  dress.  "  My  watch 
stands  at  the  minute,  Miss  Vernor." 

"  And  here  come  the  horses,"  added  Phebe. 

"  Not  much  to  boast  of,"  said  De  Forest, 
turning  the  severe  criticism  of  his  look  upon 
the  animals  as  the  boy  brought  them  up.  "  I 
would  n't  let  you  be  seen  in  Central  Park  with 
them.  However,  they  are  the  best  Joppa  can 
do  for  us.  They  are  not  very  good-natured 
brutes  either,  but  I  believe  you  look  to  a  horse's 
hoofs  rather  than  his  head." 

"  I- do,  decidedly,"  laughed  Gerald,  as  De  For 
est  raised  her  deftly  to  the  saddle  and  arranged 
bridle  and  girths  to  her  liking,  turning  to  tighten 
his  own  before  mounting,  and  kicking  away  a 
small  dog  that  had  run  up  to  sniff  at  his  heels. 

"  What  did  you  bring  along  this  ugly  little 
beast  of  yours  for,  Jim?  I  abhor  curs." 


86  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  T  ain't  none  of  mine,  Mister,"  said  the  sta 
ble-boy,  grinning.  "  It 's  one  of  them  street 
dogs  that  ain't  nobody's."  And  he  in  his  turn 
gave  a  push  to  the  puppy,  while  Gerald  leaned 
down  and  hit  at  it  lightly  with  her  whip. 

"  Get  away,  my  friend.  There  is  n't  room 
both  for  you  and  for  us  here,"  she  said,  turning 
her  horse  toward  it  playfully  as  the  little  creat 
ure  slunk  aside.  In  another  instant  her  horse 
kicked  violently,  there  was  a  single  sharp  yelp, 
and  the  dog  lay  motionless  in  the  road. 

"  Hi!"  exclaimed  Jim,  quite  in  accents  of  ad 
miration,  as  he  ran  up  and  bent  over  the  poor 
thing.  "That  was  a  good  un !  Right  on  the 
head!  He  won't  trouble  any  other  genelman 
again,  I  'm  thinking." 

"  What !  "  cried  Gerald,  sharply,,  "You  don't 
mean  the  dog  is  dead?" 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  said  the  boy,  moving  a  little 
aside  so  that  she  should  see.  "  That  was  a  neat 
un  and  no  mistake." 

Gerald  looked  down  with  a  cry  of  horror ; 
then  suddenly  sprang  from  her  horse  and  caught 
up  the  poor  little  limp  animal  in  her  arms. 

"  Take  away  the  horse,"  she  said  to  the  boy, 
imperiously.  "  I  shall  not  ride  to-day." 


FRIENDS.  87 

"  But,  Miss  Vernor !  "  expostulated  De  Forest, 
"  for  heaven's  sake  don't  take  it  so  to  heart.  It 's 
unfortunate,  of  course,  but  no  one  is  to  blame. 
Do  put  the  thing  down.  It 's  dead.  You  can't 
do  any  thing  more  for  it." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  did  all  I  could  ; 
I  killed  him.  But  you  '11  have  to  excuse  me,  Mr. 
De  Forest,  I  can't  ride." 

De  Forest  caught  her  by  the  arm  impatiently, 
as  she  turned  from  him.  "  What  nonsense, 
Miss  Vernor !  What  is  the  good  of  playing 
tragedy  queen  over  a  dead  dog  ?  I  '11  have  him 
buried  in  a  silver  coffin  if  you  like  and  raise  a 
memorial  to  his  inestimable  virtues,  but  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  sensible,  do  get  on  the  horse 
again  and  let  us  have  our  ride." 

"  Not  to-day,"  replied  Gerald.  "  I  could  not. 
It  is  impossible."  She  looked  up  at  him,  hold 
ing  the  little  victim  pressed  close  in  her  arms, 
utterly  regardless  of  its  rough  and  grimy  coat. 
Her  eyes  were  swimming  with  tears. 

"  As  you  decide,  of  course,"  said  De  Forest, 
sulkily,  releasing  her,  and  tossing  his  bridle  to 
the  boy.  "  Here  you,  Sim,  or  Tim,  or  Jim,  or 
whatever  you  are,  take  away  the  horses,  and  as 


88  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

you  value  your  tip,  mind  you  don't  have  any 
more  dogs  around  the  next  time  I  want  you." 

Gerald  turned  away  without  another  word, 
gathering  up  her  dress  as  she  best  could,  and 
went  into  the  house.  Oily,  who  had  witnessed 
the  whole  proceeding  enchantedly  from  the 
window,  ran  to  meet  her.  "  T  say,  let 's  see 
him.  My,  ain't  he  dirty !  Is  he  dead  ?  just  as 
dead  as  he  can  be  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  sister,  very  gently  ;  "the 
poor  thing  is  quite  dead.  Come  and  help  me 
bury  him  decently  somewhere.  No,  Phebe, 
stay  there.  I  wish  it.  Don't  let  us  have  any 
more  fuss  about  it,  please." 

De  Forest  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  to  leave 
as  Gerald  disappeared.  "  Pray  don't  let  me  de- . 
tain  you  from  the  interesting  ceremony,  Miss 
Lane,"  he  said,  with  his  most  cynical  and  mock 
ing  voice ;  "  Miss  Vernor  as  high-priestess  will 
be  worth  a  full  audience.  Good-morning." 

"  Gerald  would  n't  like  it  if  I  went  to  her 
when  she  said  not ;  I  must  stay  here,"  said 
Phebe,  turning  her  distressed  face  to  Halloway, 
who  had  stood  a  silent  spectator  of  it  all.  "  Oh, 
I  'm  so  sorry  it  happened !  Is  n't  it  too  bad  ?  " 


FRIENDS.  89 

"  It  certainly  is, — for  the  dog." 

"  She  won't  get  over  it  for  ever  so  long,  and 
it  was  n't  really  her  fault.  She  was  only  in  fun 
when  she  turned  her  horse  that  way.  Gerald  is 
very  tender-hearted." 

"  I  see  she  is, — toward  dogs." 

"  Mr.  Halloway,  you  don't  like  her  !  " 

"  Miss  Phebe,  I  am  madly  in  love  with  her." 

f<  Don't  laugh  at  me,  please.  Is  n't  she  hand 
some  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  could  n't  judge  of  the  length  of  her 
hair." 

"  Nonsense,  tell  me  what  you  really  think  of 
her." 

Denham  pondered  a  moment.  "  I  think  all 
sorts  of  things,"  he  answered  presently,  with  an 
amused  laugh.  "  She  is  so  contradictory  she  '11 
fit  almost  any  opinion,  and  the  worst  I  can  say 
of  her  is  that  she  '11  never  concern  herself  in  the 
least  to  find  out  what  my  opinion  may  be." 

"Ah,"  said  Phebe,  softly,  "just  wait.  You 
don't  either  of  you  know  each  other  yet!  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PICNIC. 

ERALD'S  and  Olly's  visit  was  quite  an 
V_JT  event  in  the  quiet  Lane  household. 
Oily  flagrantly  broke  every  existing  custom  in 
it  with  the  sublime  autocracy  of  childhood,  and  re 
gained  his  health  at  the  cost  of  the  peace  of  mind 
of  every  individual  with  whom  he  came  in  con 
tact,  from  nervous  Miss  Lydia  down  to  the  pro 
testing  servants  ;  while  Gerald  was  one  of  those 
intense  personalities  whose  influence  seems  to 
recreate  the  entire  atmosphere  about  them  at 
once,  go  where  they  will.  Poor  Miss  Lydia 
was  afraid  of  her  quick  speech  and  brusque 
ways  and  decided  opinions,  and  spent  more 
hours  than  usual  upstairs  alone  in  her  own 
little  room,  and  wore  her  best  cap  whenever 
she  appeared  below,  as  a  sort  of  mute  appeal  to 
the  young  lady's  indulgence.  But  Gerald,  in 
her  robust  health,  had  no  sympathy  whatever 

QO 


THE  PICNIC.  91 

with  invalids  as  a  class,  and  for  "  chronic 
nerves  "  she  had  an  absolute  contempt,  unmiti 
gated  by  even  the  best  cap's  gay  ribbons.  "It's 
altogether  a  matter  of  will,"  she  asserted. 
"  People  need  n't  be  ill  if  they  are  only  resolved 
not  to  be  so." 

"  Humph!"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  who  had  chanced 
to  overhear ;  and  there  was  a  trifle  more  ten 
derness  than  usual  in  her  manner  when  she 
went  up  later  to  put  the  mid-day  cup  of  beef-tea 
into  her  sister's  thin  hands,  and  stood  looking 
compassionately  down  at  her.  "  Nothing  is  easier 
than  to  insist  that  a  thing  is  so  and  so,  just  be 
cause  there  's  no  way  to  prove  that  it  is  n't  so." 

"  How  you  do  always  talk  in  proverbs,  Sister 
Sophy !  "  said  Miss  Lydia,  admiringly.  "  I  only 
wish  Solomon  could  have  heard  you.  I  do  be 
lieve  he  would  have  put  some  of  them  in." 

"  He  would  have  been  far  too  busy  tak 
ing  down  Mrs  Upjohn's  fine  speeches  to  mind 
me,"  grunted  Mrs.  Lane.  "  And  I  never  did 
think  much  of  Solomon,  anyway.  He  was  too 
much  of  a  Mormon  with  his  hundred  wives  and 
that.  Want  any  thing  else,  Lyddy  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.      The  house  is  very  nice 


92  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

and  still  this  morning.  There  's  a  picnic  up  at 
the  Dexter's  farm,  is  n't  there?  I  suppose 
they  've  all  gone  to  it." 

"  Of  course.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  picnic 
unless  Phebe  went  along  to  do  all  the  fussing 
and  mussing  that  everybody  else  shirks  ?  Don't 
tell  me  there  's  any  fun  in  a  picnic, — going  off 
in  the  woods  like  that,  to  do  for  yourself  what 
you'd  sell  the  clothes  off  your  back  to  have 
somebody  else  do  for  you  at  home,  and  eating 
all  kirids  of  heathenish  messes  with  your  fingers 
because  you  've  forgotten  the  forks.  But  what 
people  like  let  them  have.  They  '11  get  experi 
ence  out  of  it  if  nothing  better.  And  of  course 
Phebe  had  to  go." 

True  enough,  Phebe  was  as  essential  to  any 
picnic  as  the  feast,  though  much  less  obtrusively 
so,  and  Gerald  watched  her  friend's  quiet  help 
fulness  with  lazy  interest.  She  herself  was 
stretched  at  ease  on  the  clean,  fresh  grass  under 
some  glorious  old  trees.  The  place  chosen  was 
a  lovely  spot  at  the  head  of  the  lake  ;  the  drive 
there  had  been  long  and  hot,  and  now  she  lay 
enjoying  to  the  full  the  refreshment  of  the 
shadow  and  the  breeze,  and  the  perfection  both 


THE  PICNIC.  93 

of  the  view  and  of  her  immediate  surroundings. 
Bell  Masters  sat  near  her,  having  discovered 
that  she  was  generally  surest  of  Mr.  De  Forest's 
company  when  in  Gerald's  neighborhood.  Nor 
had  she  been  mistaken  this  time.  He  had 
openly  abandoned  the  greedy  band  of  berry- 
pickers,  and  the  artistic  knot  of  sketchers,  and 
the  noisy  body  of  pleasure-seekers,  who  were 
paddling  frivolously  around  the  shores  of  the 
lake  and  screaming  with  causeless  laughter,  as 
soon  as  he  found  that  Gerald  did  not  intend 
attaching  herself  to  any  of  them  but  had  struck 
out  the  new  and  independent  line  of  doing 
absolutely  nothing  at  all.  Halloway  had  been 
helping  industriously  with  the  fire,  but  he  came 
toward  the  group  under  the  trees  when  his 
services  seemed  no  longer  required. 

"  You  look  most  invitingly  comfortable,"  he 
said,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat.  "  We  must 
try  to  coax  Miss  Phebe  here  for  a  rest." 

"  Pray  don't,"  said  De  Forest,  lifting  a  lazy 
hand  with  an  air  of  finding  even  that  motion 
too  great  an  effort.  "  At  least  not  till  the  coffee 
is  well  under  way.  I  tasted  a  cup  of  her  make 
yesterday.  Don't  call  her  off.  We  are  all 
benefiting  in  a  manner  by  her  absence." 


94  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  I  can  make  good  coffee  too,  when  I 
choose,"  said  Bell,  biting  at  the  rim  of  her 
straw  hat. 

De  Forest  contemplated  her  with  new  in 
terest.  "  Ah,  can  you.  'T  is  a  gift  of  the  gods 
given  to  few.  And  when  do  you  choose,  may 
I  ask  ?  Apparently  not  to-day." 

"  'T  is  n't  my  picnic." 

"  Oh !     Is  it  Miss  Lane's  ?  " 

"  One  would  say  it  was,  from  the  way  she 
slaves  for  it,"  remarked  Gerald. 

"  Why  don't  you  help  too  ? "  asked  De 
Forest,  breaking  off  blades  of  grass  and  flinging 
them  out  singly  upon  the  air. 

"  For  Miss  Masters'  excellent  reason  :  it  is 
not  my  picnic." 

"  You  contribute  your  valuable  aid  solely  to 
your  own  undertakings  then  ?  " 

"  Why  am  I  called  upon  to  contribute  it  to 
any  other  ?  " 

"  'T  is  a  problem  for  philosophers.  But  for 
argument's  sake,  let  us  say  for  the  good  of 
humanity  at  large,  and  of  the  Dexters  in  par 
ticular." 

"  I  am  not  bound  to  the  Dexters   by  any 


THE  PICNIC.  95 

obligation  that  I  can  see  to  help  them  carry  out 
their  entertainment.  If  they  are  not  equal  to  it, 
they  should  not  give  it." 

"  Nothing  Quixotic  about  you,  is  there  ? " 
said  De  Forest,  looking  at  her  quizzically. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  replied  Gerald,  easily. 
"  Why  should  there  be  ?  Let  every  one  look 
out  for  himself." 

"  And  if  some  can't  ?  " 

"  That  is  no  business  of  mine.  It  's  simply 
my  business  to  make  sure  that  I  can  look  after 
myself." 

"  What  an  outrageously  frank  exposure  of  a 
universally  concealed  sentiment !  Mr.  Hallo- 
way  is  scandalized.  He  is  thinking  how  he  can 
fit  a  scorching  text  to  it  to  wither  you  with 
next  Sunday." 

"  No ;  here  is  a  sermon  ready  made  on  the 
spot,"  said  Denham,  as  Phebe  came  slowly 
toward  them.  "  Miss  Lane  in  herself  is  a  suffi 
cient  illustration  of  the  opposite  doctrine." 

"  Prove  it,"  answered  Gerald,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  "  Prove  that  Phebe,  who  toils  for 
everybody,  is  any  happier  than  I,  who  only 
follow  my  inclination." 


96  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  You  certainly  look  vastly  the  more  com 
fortable  at  present,"  said  De  Forest,  looking 
from  Gerald's  cool  cheeks  and  unruffled  muslin 
flounces  to  Phebe's  flushed  face  and  tumbled 
cambric.  "  You  are  a  practical  embodiment  of 
the  beauty  and  expediency  of  selfishness." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ? "  asked 
Phebe,  coming  up  and  leaning  wearily  against 
a  tree. 

"  About  you  and  Miss  Vernor,"  explained 
Bell.  "  Which  of  you  is  happier  ?  /  should 
say-Miss  Vernor  decidedly." 

A  loving  look  came  into  Phebe's  eyes,  as  she 
glanced  down  at  Gerald. 

"  Miss  Vernor,  of  course"  she  said,  with  a 
very  tender  inflection  of  voice.  "  Being  what 
she  is,  how  can  she  help  being  the  happier  ?  " 

"  Virtue  advocating  vice,"  said  De  Forest. 
"  Mr.  Halloway,  your  sermon  is  a  dead  failure, 
— as  a  sermon." 

"  By  no  means,"  answered  Denham,  smiling. 
"  I  don't  expect  to  convert  you  in  a  single 
lesson.  Will  you  not  sit  down  with  us,  Miss 
Phebe  ?  You  look  tired." 

"  Not  just  yet,  thank  you." 


THE  PICNIC.  97 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Gerald. 

"  I  want  to  see  a  little  after  Miss  Delano  first. 
She  's  off  there  all  alone  hunting  for  ferns." 

"  Well,"  persisted  Gerald,  "  what  of  it?  Are 
you  fonder  of  her  society  than  ours,  that  you 
must  run  after  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  fonder  of  any  one's  society  than 
of  yours,  Gerald." 

"  But  are  you  fond  of  that  tiresome  creature  at 
all  ?  Confess  it ;  does  n't  she  bore  you  to  death 
with  her  interminable  grasshopper  chatter  ?  " 

Phebe  glanced  at  Halloway,  and  laughed  a 
little  as  she  moved  away.  "  Oh,  I  am  learning 
by  degrees  not  to  be  bored  by  people, — not 
even  by  Miss  Delano." 

"  Now,  will  any  one  explain  why  she  should 
wish  to  teach  herself  not  to  know  a  bore  from 
a  Christian  ?  "  exclaimed  Gerald,  impatiently. 
"  It  is  quite  beyond  me." 

"  But  do  you  really  never  talk  to  anybody 
unless  you  want  to,  Miss  Vernor  ?  "  asked  Bell, 
disagreeably  conscious  that  Gerald  had  not  vol 
untarily  addressed  her  once  that  morning. 

"Never,"  replied  Gerald,  staring  out  at  the 
lake. 


98  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Don't  you  ever  do  any  thing  you  don't  want 
to,  because  you  ought  to  ?  " 

"  I  don.'t  always  see  the  ought.  For  instance, 
why  should  I  put  myself  out  to  entertain  Miss 
Delano  as  Phebe  does  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  muttered  Bell.  "  I  would  n't, 
I  am  sure.  She  is  mortally  dull." 

"  One  might  imagine  reasons  for  the  self- 
sacrifice,  I  suppose,"  said  De  Forest,  making  a 
languid  snatch  at  a  butterfly  fluttering  near. 
"  The  possibility,  we  will  say,  that  it  might 
please  the  gentle  old  babbler  to  come  under  the 
condescension  of  your  notice.  How  would  that 
do  for  a  motive  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  want  to  please  her  ?  "  in 
sisted  Gerald,  removing  a  hideous  beetle  from 
her  dress  with  all  possible  care  lest  she  should 
hurt  it.  "  I  don't  want  to.  I  don't  care  for  her, 
nor  she  for  me.  Why  should  I  put  myself  out 
for  her  ?  What  claim  has  she  on  me  that  I 
should  displease  myself  to  please  her  ?  " 

"  Let  us  see,"  said  Denham,  ruminatingly. 
"  Miss  Delano's  pleasure  against  Miss  Vernor's 
displeasure,  or  vice  versa,  Miss  Vernor's  pleas 
ure  against  Miss  Delano's  displeasure.  Yes; 


THE  PICNIC.  99 

the  balance  of  pleasure  remains  quite  the  same 
whichever  lady  has  it.  Apart  from  principle, 
the  logic  is  unanswerable." 

"  It  is  admirable,"  commented  De  Forest.  "  I 
always  did  like  logic  so  much  better  than  moral 
philosophy.  Hello,  what 's  the  matter  now? " 

There  was  a  wail  of  distress  somewhere  in 
the  distance. 

Gerald  turned  her  shapely  head  and  listened 
a  moment.  "  It  's  only  Oily,"  she  said,  com 
posedly.  "  I  recognize  the  cry.  He  is  n't  hurt. 
Oh,  you  need  n't  go,  Mr.  Halloway;  Oily  never 
comes  to  any  harm.  He  's  only  quarrelling  with 
some  one." 

De  Forest  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  to 
listen,  while  Halloway  walked  off  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  outburst.  "  There  are  possibilities 
lurking  in  picnics,  you  know,"  he  remarked,  re 
suming  his  recumbent  position,  "  mad  bulls,  and 
rabbit  traps,  and  fine  chances  for  a  drown  now 
and  then.  But  I  suppose  we  need  n't  trouble 
ourselves,  Mr.  Halloway  '11  see  to  it.  Besides, 
Oily  bears  the  charmed  life  of  the  wicked.  Miss 
Masters,  I  hope  you  remember  to  give  daily 
thanks  that  you  have  n't  any  small  brothers." 


IOO  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  i  do  devoutly  give  thanks  that  I  have  n't 
any  sisters,"  said  Bell,  with  an  unaffectionate 
glance  toward  Gerald.  "  I  should  hate  them." 

And  so  the  desultory  talk  rambled  on,  the 
little  group  growing  larger  by  degrees  as  the 
approaching  luncheon  hour  brought  back  the 
stragglers,  and  with  them  Oily,  trotting  con 
tentedly  along,  clinging  to  Halloway's  hand, 
meek  as  any  lamb. 

"  What  were  you  doing  when  you  cried  out 
so  a  little  while  ago  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  going  up 
to  the  child. 

Oily  looked  at  her  with  instant  defiance  in  his 
eyes.  "  I  hurt  my  foot." 

"You  know  perfectly  well  you  can't  deceive 
me,  Oily.  Tell  me  the  truth.  What  mischief 
were  you  at  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  hurt  my  foot,  and  it  hurt  like 
mischief,  and  that  's  all  the  mischief  there  was. 
I  wish  it  had  been  your  foot,  and  I  would  n't 
have  cried  a  bit." 

Hallo  way  was  turning  aside,  but  Gerald  ap 
pealed  to  him.  "  Is  he  telling  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Denham,  dryly.  "  He  was 
racing  with  the  Anthony  boys  and  fell,  but,  as 
you  see,  he  's  right  enough  now." 


THE  PICNIC.  101 

"  Ya-ah  !  "  said  Oily,  and  leered  into  her  face 
with  brotherly  disrespect.  "  I  '11  tell  you  a  lie 
next  time  if  you  'd  rather.  Ya-ah !  " 

Gerald  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  shake 
him  on  the  spot,  and  to  prevent  any  such  catas 
trophe  Denham  suddenly  seized  the  little  fellow 
and  put  him  through  a  number  of  acrobatic  feats 
in  breathless  succession,  till  he  was  fairly  hustled 
into  good  temper  and  everybody  around  was 
laughing,  even  Gerald.  Jake  Dexter  was  in 
stantly  incited  to  display  some  marvellous  lim 
ber-jointed  powers  of  his  own,  and  had  just 
demonstrated, to  the  assembled  company,  to  his 
and  their  entire  satisfaction,  that  the  impossible 
is  after  all  sometimes  possible,  when  luncheon 
was  announced  by  the  ringing  of  a  cow-bell, 
and  a  gay  onslaught  upon  the  usual  picnic  table, 
rich  in  luxuries  and  poor  in  necessities,  super 
seded  for  the  nonce  all  less  material  forms  of 
amusement. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  Halloway  wandered 
off  from  the  rest  for  one  of  the  solitary  strolls 
that  he  preferred  to  companionship  as  being  less 
lonely, — a  feeling  often  experienced  when 
fate  and  not  choice  appoints  one's  comrades, 


IO2  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

— and  returning  leisurely  along  the  banks  of 
the  lake,  he  came  upon  a  little  group  of  pic 
nickers,  and  stopped  unperceived  beyond  them, 
to  enjoy  for  a  while  that  comfortable  sense  of  be 
ing  in  the  world  yet  out  of  it,  which  is  the  birth 
right  of  all  spectatorship.  Gerald  and  Phebe 
were  skipping  stones,  thoroughly  absorbed  in 
energetic  enjoyment  of  the  simple  game  ;  their 
two  contrasting  figures,  Gerald  dark  and  tall  and 
slim,  and  Phebe  so  round  and  fair  and  supple, 
making  a  pretty-enough  picture  for  any  artist. 
Oily,  little  Maggie  Dexter,  and  an  assortment  of 
sturdy  urchins  known  throughout  Joppa  only  as 
the  Anthony  boys,  were  dancing  and  chattering 
aimlessly  around,  and  near  by  was  drawn  up  a 
clumsy  old  boat  where  Phebe  had  made  a  com 
fortable  niche  for  Miss  Delano,  who  every  day 
at  about  this  hour  was  afflicted  with  a  remark 
able  disorder  which  had  grown  upon  her  wholly 
of  late  years,  and  whose  symptoms,  so  far  as 
she  was  willing  to  admit  them,  consisted  of  a 
painful  heaviness  of  the  eyelids,  a  weakness  in 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  an  irresistible  ten 
dency  to  retire  for  a  brief  season  within  herself. 
A  little  farther  off  still,  having  taken  fortune  at 


THE  PICNIC.  IO3 

the  flood  and  secured  De  Forest  at  last,  Bell 
Masters  was  embarked  on  another  kind  of  craft, 
a  thorough-going",  fully-freighted  flirtation,  all 
sails  set ;  and  through  the  trees  were  glimpses 
of  lazily  moving  figures  beyond,  generally  in 
twos  and  twos,  following  some  occult  rule  of 
common  division  peculiar  to  picnics.  By  de 
grees  the  children  wandered  off  up  the  bank, 
and  presently  there  came  a  shout,  followed  by 
an  evident  squabble.  Phebe  looked  around  un 
easily.  Gerald  kept  on  with  her  sport. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven  times, 
Phebe.  Now  do  better  than  that." 

At  this  juncture  little  Maggie  ran  up,  her  pretty 
brown  eyes  wide  and  her  red  lips  quivering. 
"Oh !  Miss  Vernor,  Oily  sha'n't  do  it,  shall  he  ? 
Do  say  he  sha'n't !  " 

"  Do  what  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  pausing  in  the 
act  of  searching  for  another  pebble. 

"  Put  it  in  the  water  to  swim  like  a  duck.  It 
is  n't  a  duck,  it 's  a  little,  little  young  bird  he  's 
found  in  a  nest,  and  it  can't  swim,  it  can't  hardly 
fly.  Oh,  don't  let  him!" 

"  Let  him  !  "  echoed  Gerald  sharply.  She 
sprang  toward  the  children  with  a  bound,  almost 


IO4  ONL  Y  AW  INCIDENT. 

lifting  Oily  off  his  feet  as  she  drew  him  back 
from  the  water's  edge.  "  You  cruel  boy  !  "  she 
cried.  "  Give  it  to  me  directly." 

"  I  won't !  "  answered  Oily,  trying  to  shake 
himself  free  from  her  grasp.  "  It 's  mine,  I 
found  it." 

But  the  small  hands  held  him  in  a  grip  as 
strong  as  a  man's,  and  in  another  moment  Ger 
ald  had  taken  the  poor  little  half-feathered 
creature  from  him,  and  bidden  Maggie  restore 
it  carefully  to  its  nest. 

"  It 's  mine  !  It 's  mine  !  I  '11  have  it  back!  " 
shouted  Oily,  angrily,  after  the  little  girl. 

Gerald  took  hold  of  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
turned  him  round  toward  her.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  hatred  for  the  sin,  and  not  over 
much  love  for  the  sinner,  in  her  face,  as  she 
looked  down  at  him.  "If  you  dare  touch  that 
bird  again,  Oily,  I  '11  find  a  punishment  for  you 
that  you  will  not  soon  forget,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

A  sudden  thought  of  revenge  for  the  spoiled 
sport  came  into  Olly's  mind.  He  twisted  him 
self  away  from  his  sister  with  a  little  grunt,  and 
stood  peevishly  playing  a  moment  with  a  couple 
of  marbles  ;  then  suddenly  darting  aside,  seized 


THE  PICNIC.  105 

the  boat  in  which  Miss  Delano  was  established, 
still  struggling,  but  more  feebly,  with  the  myste 
rious  trouble  that  held  her  in  thrall ;  and  with  a 
strength  with  which  one  would  hardly  have 
credited  his  slight  form,  he  pushed  it  off  into  the 
water.  There  was,  of  course,  not  a  particle  of 
real  danger  for  Miss  Delano,  even  though  this 
chanced  to  be  the  only  boat  at  that  point,  and 
she  was  no  oarswoman  ;  but  the  poor  little  old 
lady,  thus  suddenly  roused  from  the  strange 
hallucinations  (as  she  called  them)  which  were 
the  most  marked  feature  of  her  complaint,  and 
finding  herself  afloat  upon  the  unstable  deep, 
instantly  supposed  that  her  last  hour  was  come. 
She  sprang  up,  too  terrified  to  scream,  with  a 
look  of  deadly  horror  in  her  face,  and  then  sank 
again  all  in  a  heap  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
Oily  gave  a  fiendish  laugh,  but  before  any  one 
else  could  move  to  the  rescue,  Gerald,  with  one 
fierce,  unutterable  look  at  her  brother,  and  no 
thought  but  how  soonest  to  end  Miss  Delano's 
speechless  agony,  quick  as  a  flash,  caught  hold 
of  an  overhanging  bough  and  swung  herself 
on  to  a  rock  quite  far  out  in  the  water,  and  thence, 
with  a  light,  bold  spring,  landed  safely  in  the 
middle  of  the-  boat  as  it  drifted  past. 


IO6  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  All  right,  Miss  Delano,"  she  said,  briskly, 
seating  herself  and  laying  hold  of  the  oars  with 
accustomed  hands  ;  "  I  'm  a  born  sailor,  and  we  '11 
have  a  little  row  first  before  we  go  back." 

Had  an  angel  visibly  descended  from  heaven 
to  assume  the  helm,  Miss  Delano  could  not  have 
been  more  grateful  and  overcome.  "  Oh,  my 
dear,  my  dear  !  "  she  said,  and,  in  the  intensity 
of  her  relief,  began  to  cry  a  little  softly.  Gerald 
pretended  not  to  notice  her  emotion  (she  was 
very  awkward  as  a  comforter,  and  as  shy  before 
tears  as  a  man),  and  rowed  around  for  a  while 
in  utter  silence  ;  and  then  feeling  that  conver 
sation  might  aid  in  quieting  her  companion's 
unnecessarily  excited  nerves  she  began  abruptly 
charging  her  with  questions  as  one  loads  a  gun 
with  cartridges,  dropping  down  one  after  another 
with  cruel  directness  into  the  harmless  vacancy 
of  Miss  Delano's  brain.  How  many  inhabitants 
had  Joppa  in  precise  figures  ?  what  was  the 
height  of  those  farther  hills  to  the  left  ?  upon 
what  system  was  the  village-school  governed  ? 
what  was  the  mineral  nature  of  the  soil  ?  what 
was  the  fastest  time  ever  made  by  that  bay  mare 
of  Mr.  Upjohn's  with  the  white  hind  foot?  etc., 


THE  PICNIC.  ID/ 

etc.,  etc.,  on  all  which  points  poor  Miss  Delano 
could  only  assure  her  timidly  :  "  I  don't  know, 
dear  ;  it  would  be  well  if  I  did,"  and  relapsed 
into  an  alarmed  and  most  uncharacteristic  silence. 

Phebe  stood  watching  the  boat  as  Gerald 
rowed  off,  then,  as  if  recollecting  some  neglected 
duty,  turned  suddenly,  and  found  herself  face  to 
face  with  Mr.  Halloway. 

"  No  farther,"  he  said,  playfully  barring  her 
passage. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must !  I  want  to  find  Oily  and 
talk  him  into  a  better  frame  of  mind  before 
Gerald  comes  back." 

"  Leave  Oily  to  me,  please.  I  am  a  perfect 
child-tamer,  and  guarantee  to  exorcise  his  seven 
evil  spirits  in  less  than  no  time.  Meanwhile,  sit 
you  down  and  rest." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  need  rest.  If  you  '11  undertake 
Oily  I  '11  help  put  back  the  lunch  things.  Pic 
nics  are  quite  like  the  Biblical  feasts  :  five  loaves 
and  two  fishes  somehow  always  make  twelve 
basketfuls  to  take  up." 

"  And  you  are  always  a  true  disciple  at  the 
feast,  Miss  Phebe,  intent  only  upon  ministering 
to  others." 


IO8  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

Phebe  laughed  her  own  peculiarly  light- 
hearted,  gay  laugh.  "  That  is  a  much  prettier 
way  of  putting  it  than  Gerald's.  She  says  I 
make  myself  maid-of-all-work." 

"  Miss  Gerald,  of  course,  does  n't  approve  of 
such  service." 

"  But  you  do.  So  I  need  n't  mind  her 
blame." 

"  But  I  shall  blame  too,  Miss  Phebe,  when 
you  overdo  yourself.  I  don't  see  why  others' 
recreation  need  be  all  work  for  you.  Let  each 
take  his  share  of  both  the  pleasure  and  the  toil." 

"  But  you  see  this  is  my  share,  Mr.  Hallo- 
way,  because  I  can't  help  in  any  better  way.  I 
don't  know  enough  to  entertain  people's  guests 
just  by  talking  to  them,  as  Gerald  does.  You 
forget  how  dull  I  am." 

"  So  I  do,"  said  Denham,  gravely.  "  I  forget 
it  all  the  time.  Indeed,  the  forgetfulness  has 
quite  become  chronic.  Now  I  '11  find  Oily,  and 
we  '11  all  go  at  the  dishes  together  and  make  a 
game  of  it." 

Certainly  Denham  Halloway  must  have  pos 
sessed  some  secret  charm  in  his  management  of 
children,  for  by  the  time  Gerald  turned  her  boat 


THE  PICNIC. 

to  the  shore,  he  stood  at  the  bank  to  meet  them, 
with  Oily  by  his  side,  as  amiable  a  little  fellow 
as  any  Sunday-school-book  hero  ever  born. 

"  I  am  glad  your  sail  turned  out  such  a  suc 
cess,  Miss  Delano,"  said  Halloway,  cheerily,  as 
he  lifted  the  little  old  lady  carefully  out  on  to 
the  pebbles.  "  You  have  been  envied  of  us  all. 
But  here  is  a  little  boy  come  to  tell  you  all  the 
same  how  sorry  he  is  that  he  gave  you  such  a 
fright.  Oily,  my  lad,  I  think  Miss  Delano 
looks  as  if  she  had  forgiven  you  through  and 
through." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  indeed  yes,"  answered  Miss 
Delano,  hurriedly.  "  It  was  only  my  silly  way 
of  being  scared,  particularly  when  I  'm  roused 
up  so  sudden  out  of  one  of  those  turns  of  mine. 
And  it  's  all  right,  my  dear,  all  right." 

"  But  I  'm  sorry,  real  and  honest,"  declared 
Oily,  stoutly,  looking  squarely  in  Miss  Delano's 
kindly  face.  "  And  I  did  n't  mean  to  scare  you." 

"  You  meant  it  for  a  revenge  on  me,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Gerald,  in  a  low,  harsh  voice.  She 
took  hold  of  his  arm  as  she  spoke.  "  Give  me 
those  marbles  of  yours." 

Oily  looked  at  her,  hesitated,  and  then  re- 


1 10  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

luctantly  produced  three  very  handsome  agates 
from  some  outlying  storehouse  of  his  jacket. 

"  I  bought  you  six,"  said  Gerald.  "  Where 
are  the  rest  ?" 

"  I  lost  one,"  answered  Oily,  sullenly.  "  It 
fell  down  a  hole." 

"  Then  give  me  the  other  two." 

Oily  obeyed  still  more  reluctantly,  fixing 
great,  anxious  eyes  upon  his  treasures  as  he 
laid  them,  each  one  more  slowly  than  the  last, 
in  his  sister's  hand. 

"  There,"  said  Gerald.  "  Perhaps  this  will 
teach  you  to  behave  better  another  time.  I 
shall  not  buy  you  any  more  this  summer." 
She  flung  out  her  hand  suddenly,  and  the  five 
pretty  stones  fell  with  a  splash  far  out  in  the 
lake  and  disappeared  forever,  five  little  cruel 
sets  of  circles  instantly  beginning  to  widen  and 
widen  over  their  graves  in  a  perfect  mockery  of 
roundness.  Oily  gave  one  sharp  cry,  and  then 
stood  stock-still,  a  bitterly  hard  look  coming 
over  his  face ;  those  marbles  had  been  very, 
very  dear  to  his  heart.  Halloway  put  his  arm 
tenderly  around  the  little  fellow,  and  drew  him 
close  in  a  very  sympathetic  way. 


THE  PICNIC.  Ill 

"  Oily,"  he  said,  gently,  "  you  know  you  de 
served  some  punishment,  but  now  that  your 
sister  has  punished  you,  I  am  sure  she  will  for 
give  you  too,  as  Miss  Delano  has  done,  if  you 
only  ask  her." 

Oily  buried  his  face  in  his  friend's  coat,  and 
burst  into  a  fit  of  heart-broken  tears.  "  I  don't 
want  her  to  forgive  me,"  he  sobbed.  "  I  only 
want  my  agates, — my  pretty,  pretty  agates !  " 

"Surely  you  will  forgive  him?"  pleaded 
Halloway,  looking  up  at  Gerald  over  Olly's 
head,  and  holding  out  one  of  the  boy's  hands 
in  his  own.  "  He  was  really  penitent  when 
you  came  up.  Let  me  ask  for  him." 

Gerald  moved  a  step  away,  ignoring  the 
hand.  "Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  said, 
coldly. 

Halloway  bent  and  kissed  Olly's  flushed  face. 
"  Do  you  hear,  my  boy  ?  It  is  all  right  now, 
and  there  is  Maggie  calling  you  to  swing  her. 
Don't  forget  you  promised  to  make  me  a  visit 
at  the  rectory  to-morrow." 

Oily  threw  his  arms  around  Denham's  knees 
and  gave  him  a  convulsive  hug.  "  I  like  you 
though  you  are  a  minister,"  he  said,  through  his 


112  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

tears.  "  I  just  wish  you  were  my  sister! "  And 
then  he  went  slowly  off  to  Maggie,  and  Denham 
and  Gerald  stood  silently  where  he  had  left 
them.  Gerald  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  think  I  am  hard  on  Oily.  I  see  it  in 
your  face." 

"  I  do  think,"  replied  Denham,  slowly,  with  a 
faint  smile  curving  his  well-cut  lips,  "  that  per 
haps  it  might  be  happier  for  Oily  if  you  would 
try  to  consider  him  less  in  the  light  of  a  boy, 
and  more  as — as  only  a  little  animal.  You  are 
so  tender-hearted  and  pitiful  toward  animals." 

Gerald  flushed  angrily.  "  I  like  plain  speak 
ing  best.  You  think  I  am  hard  on  him.  Why 
don't  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  will  if  you  prefer  it.     I  do  think  so." 

"  Thanks.  Is  there  any  thing  else  you  would 
like  to  say  to  me  in  your  capacity  as  clergyman 
before  we  join  the  others  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  I  may  really  venture  so  far.  Your 
hat  is  quite  crooked." 

Gerald  straightened  it  without  a  smile. 
"  Thanks  again.  Any  thing  else  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing."  He  turned  to  escort 
her  back,  but  Gerald  stood  still,  frowning  out 
at  the  lake. 


THE   PICNIC.  113 

"  You  don't  know  Oily,"  she  said,  curtly. 

"  Maybe  not,  but  I  know  childish  nature 
pretty  well,  perhaps  because  I  love  it." 

"  Ah  !  I  don't  love  it.  It  is  n't  lovable  to 
me.  It  is  all  nonsense  to  call  it  the  age  of 
innocence.  It  is  vice  in  embryo  instead  of  in 
full  leaf,  that  is  all." 

"  But  that  is  an  inestimable  gain  of  itself.  A 
little  of  a  bad  thing  is  surely  much  better  than 
a  great  deal  of  it.  For  my  part  I  confess  to 
a  great  partiality  for  children.  There  is  some 
thing  pathetic  to  me  in  the  little  faults  and 
tempers  that  irritate  us  now  chiefly  because 
they  clash  against  our  own  weaknesses,  and  yet 
on  the  right  guidance  of  which  lies  the  whole 
making  or  marring  of  the  child's  life." 

"  Does  n't  guidance  include  punishment  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  includes  it.  But  it  does  not  consist 
of  it." 

Gerald  still  stood  half  turned  from  him,  frown 
ing  out  over  the  placid  blue  water.  "  Ah,"  she 
said,  "  it  chiefly  consists  of  good  example  and 
that  sort  of  thing,  I  suppose." 

"  I  think  it  consists  chiefly  of  love,"  said 
Halloway,  simply. 


1 14  ONL  y  AN  INCIDENT. 

Gerald  made  no  answer  at  first,  then  turned 
and  looked  at  him  almost  defiantly.  Her 
changeable  eyes  seemed  black  as  she  raised 
them  to  his.  "  Would  you  have  thrown  Olly's 
marbles  into  the  lake  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Halloway,  looking  steadily 
back  at  her. 

"  Then  you  would  have  been  very  foolish," 
said  Gerald,  haughtily.  "  It  was  the  only  way 
to  touch  him.  I  was  quite  right  to  do  it." 

"  You  should  be  the  best  judge  of  your 
actions,  Miss  Vernor." 

Gerald  bowed  without  answer,  and  moved 
past  him  like  an  offended  duchess.  Halloway 
stood  looking  after  her  with  an  amused  sparkle 
in  his  eyes.  "  Miss  Geraldine  Vernor,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  with  all  your  beauty  and  your  re 
puted  accomplishments  and  intellect,  you  would 
yet  do  well  to  take  a  few  lessons  of  my  little 
friend  Phebe  Lane." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TRIED     AS     BY     FIRE. 

ERALD,  what  are  you  thinking  of?" 
V_JT     "  I  was  wondering  how  soon  you  would 
let  us  have  the  lamp." 

"  I  '11  get  it  immediately,  if  you  like,  but  it  's 
so  pleasant  talking  in  the  twilight.  I  could 
spend  hours  contentedly  sitting  here  so  with 
you." 

"  How  reprehensibly  idle  !  " 

"  No,  I  should  be  learning  something  all  the 
time.  You  have  always  something  to  teach  me. 
Or  if  you  did  n't  feel  like  talking,  I  could  just  sit 
still  and  hold  your  hand  and  not  need  any 
thing  more." 

Gerald  put  her  hand  instinctively  out  of  reach. 
"  I  beg  you  won't  try  it.  I  hate  having  my 
hand  held." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  do.  You  hate  being 
kissed,  too.  You  hate  being  admired  and  made 

"5 


Il6  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

a  fuss  over.  I  don't  suppose  any  thing  would 
induce  you  to  let  me  call  you  a  pet  name.  O 
Gerald,  I  do  wish  you  liked  being  loved !  " 

"  But  I  do  like  it  well  enough.  Of  course 
every  one  likes  being  cared  for  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  It  's  only  the  gushing  and  spooning 
and  sentimentalizing  that  I  can't  endure.  I 
never  could,  even  as  a  child." 

Phebe  sat  suddenly  upright,  away  from  Ger 
ald.  Perhaps  even  the  mute  caress  of  her  atti 
tude  jarred  upon  her  friend.  "  To  me  the  half 
of  being  loved  would  be  the  being  told  so,"  she 
said.  "  I  should  never  weary  of  hearing  it  said 
over  and  over  again." 

"  Bah  !  "  ejaculated  Gerald,  "  it  would  make 
me  sick  !  "  She  got  up  as  if  the  very  thought 
were  too  much  for  her,  and  going  to  the  window 
stood  still  there  looking  out.  Phebe  followed 
her  with  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  fated  to  be  deadly  sick 
all  your  life  through,  Gerald.  What  will  you 
do  with  your  lovers  ?  " 

"  Dismiss  them." 

"All?" 

"  All  but  one." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  him?  " 


TRIED  AS  BY  FIRE.  117 

"  Marry  him,  of  course.  That  is  what  he  will 
be  there  for,  won't  it  ?  I  expect  to  marry  some 
one  some  time.  Marriage  makes  a  woman's 
life  fuller  and  freer,  though  not  necessarily  hap 
pier.  I  want  to  get  all  into  my  life  that  I  can." 

"  I  wonder  whom  you  will  marry,"  mused 
Phebe,  where  she  sat  curled  up  on  the .  sofa. 
"  I  wonder  what  he  could  be  like.  Gerald,  how 
I  should  like  to  see  you  in  love!" 

"  You  won't  see  it,"  replied  Gerald.  "  No 
one  will  ever  see  it.  It  would  n't  be  my  way  to 
make  a  display  of  the  insanity,  supposing,  that 
is,  that  I  have  it." 

"  I  hope  at  least  you  will  show  it  to  him." 

"  Not  overmuch  even  to  him.  He  '11  have 
to  take  it  on  faith.  I  have  n't  the  faintest  in 
tention  of  informing  any  one  of  the  state  of  my 
affections  a  dozen  times  a  day.  Once  for  all 
ought  to  be  sufficient  with  the  declaration,  as  it 
is  with  the  marriage  vow." 

Phebe  puckered  up  her  forehead.  "  Ah,  how 
different  we  are!  If  I  am  ever  engaged  to  any 
one  I  shall  want  to  keep  telling  him  all  the  time 
how  much  I  love  him,  for  fear  he  would  n't 
guess  it." 

"  You  will  bore  him  to  death  then." 


1 1 8  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall,"  replied  Phebe,  dejectedly. 
"  I  don't  suppose  any  one  living  wants  to  be 
loved  so  much  as  I  would  want  to  love  him.  I 
could  n't  be  cool  and  deliberate  and  wise  at  lov 
ing  as  you  would  be.  I  should  have  to  do  it  with 
my  whole  heart  and  just  give  myself  up  to  it 
for  good  and  all." 

"  That 's  the  story-book  way  of  loving,"  said 
Gerald.  "  I  don't  believe  in  it  for  real  life. 
Blind  adoration  does  n't  do  either  the  lover  or 
the  loved  any  good.  There  should  be  sense  in 
one's  emotions  as  well  as  in  one's  opinions." 

Phebe  was  silent  a  moment  or  two.  "  You 
are  so  self-possessed,  and  so  self-controlled, 
Gerald,"  she  said  at  last.  "It  must  be  very 
nice  to  have  one's  self  so  perfectly  in  command  as 
you  have.  And  yet  I  don't  know.  I  think  it 
would  be  rather  nice  too  to  find  one's  self  sud 
denly  under  the  power  of  some  one  a  great  deal 
better  and  stronger  and  wiser  than  one's  self,  who 
compelled  one  to  love  him,  not  because  one 
would,  but  just  because  one  could  not  help  it." 

The  girls  were  alone  in  the  sitting-room,  Mrs. 
Lane  having  gone  out  to  a  neighbor's,  taking 
Oily  with  her,  and  Miss  Lydia  not  having  yet 


TRIED  AS  BY  FIRE.  1 19 

appeared  for  her  usual  hour  downstairs.  It  was 
a  few  days  after  the  picnic,  and  was  one  of  those 
suddenly  cool  August  evenings  that  sometimes 
drop  down  so  unexpectedly  upon  the  summer 
heat,  and  a  wood-fire  lay  upon  the  hearth  ready 
to  light  at  the  invalid's  coming.  Phebe  too 
sprang  from  the  sofa  as  she  spoke,  as  if  her 
words  had  evoked  too  vivid  a  picture,  and 
kneeling  down  by  the  hearth,  applied  a  match. 
The  bright  flame  leaped  swiftly  up  and  filled  all 
the  room  with  a  flickering  golden  glow.  Ger 
ald  turned  in  the  window  to  watch  it.  How 
quickly  it  had  flushed  Phebe's  cheeks,  and  how 
soft  her  eyes  looked  in  its  light ! 

"  It  's  downright  cruelty  to  spoil  our  first  cool 
evening  with  a  fire,  Phebe,  but  I  '11  forgive  you, 
it  makes  you  look  so  pretty,"  she  said,  quite 
unconscious  of  her  beauty  as  she  stood  against 
the  dark  background  of  the  curtain  in  pictu 
resque  stateliness,  her  dress  of  soft  cream-white 
cloth  falling  in  clinging  folds  about  her,  and  her 
clear  pale  face  turned  dreamily  toward  the  light, 
which  gleamed  out  in  fitful  reflection  from  the 
heavy  gold  ornaments  at  her  throat  and  wrists. 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  see  yourself !"  murmured 


1 20  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

Phebe,  looking  adoringly  back  at  her.  "  No  one 
else  could  look  pretty  to  you  if  you  did." 

"  How  foolish  ! "  said  Gerald,  scornfully. 
"  Pray  don't  let  us  begin  bandying  compliments 
back  and  forth.  That  's  next  worse  to  eternally 
discussing  love.  Why  it  is  that  two  girls  seem 
never  able  to  talk  together  half  an  hour  without 
lugging  in  that  threadbare  subject  as  if  it  were 
the  one  most  important  thing  in  the  world,  I 
don't  understand." 

"  Well,  is  n't  love  the  most  important  thing, 
— to  women  ?  "  asked  Phebe,  sitting  down  on 
the  floor  to  nurse  the  fire,  her  thin  muslin  mak 
ing  a  little  ripple  of  pretty  lightness  around  her. 

"  No,  it  is  n't,"  replied  Gerald.  "  It  may  be 
to  some  few  perhaps,  but  certainly  not  to  all 
women.  It  is  n't  to  me.  It  's  one  thing  ;  not 
every  thing ;  and  not  even  the  best  thing. 
Knowledge  is  better,  and  goodness  is  better, 
and  to  come  down  to  purely  personal  blessings, 
health  is  better,  and  so  Is  common-sense  bet 
ter,  and  in  the  long  run  there  are  dozens  of 
things  infinitely  better  worth  having  and 
better  worth  aiming  for.  It 's  a  good-enough 
thing  to  have  in  addition,  but  as  to  its  being 


TRIED  AS  BY  FIRE.  121 

the  sum  and  substance,  the  Alpha  and 
Omega,  of  any  sensible  woman's  life,  that  's 
all  foolishness.  Let  's  have  done  with  it  and 
order  in  the  lights.  I  want  to  get  at  Euclid 
again.  It  will  never  do  for  that  conceited  Yale 
brother  ot  mine  to  get  ahead  of  me.  Shall  I 
call  to  Nancy  ?  " 

"  No  use.  The  servants  are  out.  Wait  a 
moment  till  the  fire  is  well  started,  and  I  '11 
bring  in  the  lamp." 

"  The  servants  are  out  ?  "  repeated  Gerald. 
Both  ?  At  the  same  time  ?  Is  that  the  way 
you  keep  house  in  Joppa  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  like  running  out  together,  and  we 
never  want  any  thing  in  the  evenings,  you  know. 
The  front  door  always  stands  ajar,  and  visitors 
let  themselves  in." 

"  And  you  make  your  own  fires  and  bring  in 
your  own  oily  lamps  ;  or  do  your  evening  guests 
assist  you  perhaps  in  lieu  of  the  servants  ?  " 

"  But  we  don't  generally  have  fires,"  laughed 
Phebe,  greatly  amused  at  Gerald's  disgust. 
"  Only  to-night  it  would  be  too  chilly  for  Aunt 
Lydia  here  without  one.  I  feel  cool  too.  I  was 
not  so  sensible  as  you,  and  put  on  too  thin  a 


122  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

dress.  Is  n't  it  a  pretty  blaze  ?  Wait  just  till  I 
throw  on  another  log.  How  it  snaps  and 
crackles !  " 

"  Take  your  time,"  said  Gerald,  turning  back 
to  the  window.  "  But  what  a  way  to  manage  ! 
Why  should  you  hire  servants,  if  you  do  their 
work  for  them  ?  " 

Phebe  only  laughed,  and  a  little  shower  of 
sparks  flew  over  her  from  the  hearth  as  if  the 
fire  laughed  too. 

"  It 's  being  needlessly  indulgent,"  pursued 
Gerald.  "  One  can  give  servants  proper  liber 
ties  without  making  one's  self  a  slave  to  their 
caprices.  If  you  yield  to  them  in  one  instance 
because  it  chances  to  be  convenient,  they  '11  cer 
tainly  exact  it  of  you  another  time  when  it  is 
not  convenient.  Gracious  heavens  !  Phebe, 
what  is  it?  " 

There  was  a  sudden  outburst  of  light  behind 
her,  and  a  sharp  scream  of  mingled  terror  and 
pain,  and  she  turned  to  find  Phebe  standing  the 
centre  of  a  pillar  of  fire.  Her  light  dress  had  ignited 
from  the  flying  sparks,  and  the  devouring  flames 
seemed  to  burst  forth  in  a  hundred  places  at 
once  and  rush  exultantly  together.  Phebe  gave 


TRIED  AS  BY  FIRE.  123 

another  wild  cry  and  started  for  the  door  in  that 
blind  agony  of  despair  which  seems  to  hasten 
people  at  such  times  to  their  doom,  as  if  by 
aimless  flight  they  could  escape  the  awful  demon 
who  possesses  them.  Too  horror-stricken  to 
utter  a  sound,  Gerald  sprang  at  her,  and  seizing 
her  with  fearless  hands,  forced  the  poor  strug 
gling  girl  by  main  strength  down  on  to  the  floor. 
No  one  near  to  help  !  No  water  at  hand  !  Not 
so  much  as  a  rug  or  a  shawl  to  throw  over  her 
and  stifle  the  flames !  Yes !  there  was  the 
table-cover,  heavy  and  thick,  as  if  created  for 
this  very  life-service.  Gerald  tore  it  off, — books, 
boxes,  china  cups,  and  glass  vases  crashing  to 
the  ground  together, — and  flinging  it  over 
Phebe,  threw  herself  on  top  of  it,  pressing  it 
close  in  every  direction  with  hands  and  limbs, 
and  smothering  the  flames  resolutely  beneath  it. 
It  was  but  a  moment,  though  a  moment  of  life 
time  horror,  and  all  was  over.  There  was  only 
the  fire  on  the  hearth  hissing  and  leaping  as  if 
in  anger  at  its  defeated  design. 

"  Phebe !  "  whispered  Gerald,  hoarsely  ; 
"Phebe!" 

Phebe  had  ceased  to  struggle,  and  lay  per 
fectly  motionless,  apparently  scarcely  breath- 


124  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

ing,  but  she  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  faintly 
as  Gerald  called  her.  The  fright  and  the  pain 
had  taken  her  speech  away.  She  could  not  find 
it  at  once.  But  the  smile  gave  new  hope  and 
energy  to  Gerald. 

"  Never  mind  talking,"  she  exclaimed,  spring 
ing  briskly  to  her  feet.  "  If  you  are  only 
alive  it 's  all  right.  Don't  attempt  to  stir.  I  '11 
get  some  one." 

"Aunt  Lydia — don't  let  her  know,"  Phebe 
managed  to  gasp. 

"  No,  no,  of  all  people !  "  cried  Gerald.  She 
paused  an  instant.  Not  a  servant  in  the  house! 
whom  was  she  to  summon  ?  A  vague  idea 
seized  her  of  running  into  the  street  and  catch 
ing  hold  of  the  first  passer,  when  at  the  moment 
the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Halloway  appeared 
on  the  threshold. 

"  Is  there  any  one  at  home  ?  Shall  I  come 
in,  please  ?  "  called  the  bright,  cheery  voice. 

"Mr.  Halloway!  oh,  thank  Heaven!"  And 
seizing  him  by  the  arm,  Gerald  dragged  him 
over  to  where  Phebe  lay.  "  Help  me  to  take  her 
up-stairs  to  her  room." 

Denham  staggered  back  unutterably  shocked 
and  horrified  as  he  recognized  the  prostrate 


TRIED  AS  BY  FIRE.  125 

form  at  his  feet,  the  fire-light  playing  mockingly 
over  it  and  revealing  the  white  face  and  loosened 
hair.  For  the  instant  he  thought  her  dead.  He 
caught  his  breath  and  put  his  hand  up  over  his 
eyes.  "  My  God  !  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Her  dress  took  fire — she  is  burned,  no,  not 
badly  I  am  sure,  but  let  us  get  her  up-stairs 
without  losing  time.  Quick !  " 

Denham  put  Gerald  aside  almost  roughly,  and 
stooping  down  lifted  Phebe  tenderly  in  his  arms. 
She  moaned  as  he  touched  her,  but  smiled  up 
at  him  as  she  had  done  at  Gerald. 

"  Do  I  hurt  you,  dear  ?  "  he  asked,  with  infi 
nite  pity  and  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "  I  will  be 
as  gentle  as  I  can.  Poor  child  !  poor  child !  " 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Gerald.  "  The 
stairs  are  steep  and  I  am  very  strong." 

She  came  nearer,  but  he  shook  his  head.  "  I 
need  no  help." 

"  This  way,  then,"  said  Gerald,  shortly. 
"  And  don't  speak.  Miss  Lydia  must  n't  know." 

She  led  the  way  to  Phebe's  room,  and  he 
followed  slowly,  laying  his  burden  carefully 
down  on  the  bed  and  arranging  the  pillows 
under  her  head  with  all  of  a  woman's  gentleness 
of  touch. 


126  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Now  go  for  the  doctor,"  ordered  Gerald, 
turning  to  the  bureau  to  light  the  candles. 
"  Dr.  Dennis.  If  he  is  out,  Dr.  Harrison,  Only 
find  some  one  immediately." 

Denham  lingered  an  instant,  bending  down 
over  the  bed. 

"  I  thought  we  had  lost  you  to-night,  Phebe," 
he  said,  so  low  the  words  were  but  just  audible. 
"  God  be  thanked  if  only  that  you  are  still 
here !"  And  stooping  nearer  yet  he  added  : 
"  We  could  not  let  you  go,  dear  child." 

Gerald  came  anxiously  back  to  the  bedside 
as  he  left  the  room.  "  Are  you  in  much  pain 
now  ?  "  she  asked,  lifting  off  the  heavy  braid 
that  lay  across  Phebe's  bosom  like  a  great  rope 
of  loosely  twisted  silk.  "  You  do  not -think  you 
are  badly  hurt,  do  you,  dear  ?  " 

Phebe  looked  up  at  her,  smiling  strangely. 

"  Oh,  Gerald,"  she  whispered,  while  two  big 
tears  rolled  slowly  down  on  to  the  pillow,  "  I 
wish  I  might  die  to-night !  I  don't  think  I  can 
ever  be  so  happy  again !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Gerald,  with  utmost  stern 
ness.  "  Don't  talk  about  dying.  I  won't  allow 
it."  And  then  she  suddenly  put  down  her  head 
beside  Phebe's,  and  burst  into  tears. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

GERALD    OBEYS    ORDERS. 

IN  an  incredibly  short  time  Denham  brought 
back  not  only  Dr.  Dennis,  whom  he  had 
caught  just  setting  out  for  a  stolen  game  of 
whist  with  Mr.  Upjohn,  during  the  absence  of 
that  gentleman's  wife  at  prayer-meeting,  but  also 
Sceur  Angelique,  whose  mere  presence  in  a  sick 
room  was  more  than  half  the  cure.  And  then 
he  sat  in  the  dark,  disordered  room  below,  impa 
tiently  enough,  anxiously  waiting  for  news  from 
Phebe.  The  time  seemed  to  him  interminable 
before  at  last  the  door  opened,  and  Gerald  en 
tered,  bearing  a  lamp.  The  vivid  light,  flung 
so  full  upon  her,  showed  traces  of  passionate 
weeping  ;  and  her  white  dress  all  scorched  and 
burned  and  hopelessly  ruined,  with  the  rich  lace 
hanging  in  shreds  from  the  sleeves,  made  her  a 
startling  contrast  indeed  to  the  usually  calm, 
self-possessed,  perfectly-dressed  Gerald  Vernor. 

127 


128  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Denham  sprang  forward  to  take  the  heavy 
lamp  from  her.  "  How  is  she,  please?" 

Gerald  started.     "  What,  you  here  ?  " 

"  Did  you  think  I  could  leave  till  I  knew  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  not.  I  had  forgotten  you.  I 
was  only  thinking  of  Phebe." 

"  But  how  is  she  ?  " 

"  Better.  She  is  burned  about  the  shoulders 
and  a  little  on  the  arms,  but  not  seriously,  and 
nothing  that  will  disfigure.  It  is  so  fortunate. 
The  doctor  is  still  with  her,  but  she  is  much 
easier  now,  and  there  is  nothing  to  fear." 

"  Ah,  what  a  relief !  It  seemed  as  if  I  should 
never  hear.  She  is  really  in  no  danger  then  ?  " 

"  None." 

"  Thank  God !  As  you  came  in  you  looked 
so  distressed  I  feared " 

"  When  it  was  all  over  and  there  was  nothing 
to  cry  about,  I  cried,"  interrupted  Gerald. 
"  Women  are  always  fools.  I  '11  except  Mrs. 
Whittridge,  however.  She  has  been  the  great 
est  comfort  to  Phebe." 

"  It  is  Sceur  Angelique's  characteristic  privi 
lege  always  to  be  a  comfort,  I  believe,"  an 
swered  Denham,  recovering  his  light-hearted- 


GERALD  OBEYS  ORDERS.  12$ 

ness  in  a  flash.  "  Might  I  inquire  if  you  have 
any  especial  object  with  this  lamp  ?  Shall  I  do 
any  thing  particularly  with  it  ?  " 

"  Let  it  down,  please — anywhere.  I  remem 
bered  the  room  was  dark,  and  ran  down  to  put 
it  to  rights  before  Mrs.  Lane  should  come  back. 
Her  orderly  soul  would  have  a  spasm  if  she 
came  upon  it  suddenly  like  this." 

"  It  was  well  I  had  no  light,"  said  Denham, 
looking  around  him.  "  It  would  have  fright 
ened  even  me.  Sha'n  't  I  call  some  one  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  ridiculous  fashion  of  the  house  to 
suppose  it  never  needs  servants  at  this  hour. 
There  's  not  one  within  reach." 

"  You  must  let  me  help  you  then.  Is  this 
the  table-cover  ?  " 

"  Thanks.  I  am  afraid  the  fire  has  done  for 
it,  but  we  can't  help  that.  Pull  it  a  little  farther 
to  your  side,  please.  Farther  still.  That 's  too 
far.  So.  That's  right.  Now  the  lamp  here. 
Now  the  books.  Cover  up  the  holes  with 
them." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Lydia's  pet  cup !  and  her  little  fa 
vorite  statuette !  " 

"  Hideous  things !  I  'm  glad  they  're  smashed." 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Will  you  equally  enjoy  imparting  to  her  the 
fact  of  their  loss  ?  " 

"  Somebody  else  may  do  that.  I  had  my 
share  telling  her  about  Phebe." 

"  I  suppose  she  was  terribly  shocked,  poor 
old  soul.  I  don't  wonder." 

"  She  had  an  instant  attack  of  hysterics,  and 
I  did  wonder,"  rejoined  Gerald,  tartly.  "But 
as  I  told  you,  women  are  always  fools,  and  ner 
vous  women  the  worst  ones.  I  have  n't  any 
patience  with  them.  I  was  vexed  enough  with 
her  for  keeping  me  from  Phebe.  I  don't  be 
lieve  she  was  ever  hurried  so  out  of  an  attack 
before." 

"  I  'm  afraid  there  's  need  of  a  broom  or  some 
thing  here,  Miss  Vernor.  This  vase  is  in  a 
thousand  pieces." 

Gerald  seized  the  hearth-brush  and  was  on 
her  knees  by  him  in  a  moment.  "  The  lamp, 
please,  Mr.  Halloway.  Set  it  on  the  floor  an 
instant." 

Denham  moved  it  as  desired,  and  stood  look 
ing  down  at  her  as  she  began  deftly  brushing 
up  the  scattered  bits. 

"  Miss  Vernor! "  he  suddenly  exclaimed  in  a 


GERALD  OBEYS  ORDERS.  131 

shocked  voice.  The  bright  light,  falling  broad 
ly  across  her  hands,  showed  two  great  angry- 
red  blotches  ~ just  above  one  of  the  delicate 
wrists.  He  stooped  and  laid  masterful  hold  of 
the  long  handle  of  the  brush. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  stopping  perforce  and 
looking  up  in  surprise.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Your  arm — you  are  burned,  badly  burned." 

Gerald  made  a  little  sound  of  contempt  for 
all  reply. 

"  It  should  be  dressed  at  once.  How  it  must 
pain  you ! " 

Gerald  looked  at  her  arm  reflectively.  "  I 
have  n't  had  time  to  feel,"  she  said,  vainly 
trying  to  pull  her  sleeve  over  it.  "  It  will 
make  an  ugly  scar,  won't  it  ?  I  shall  have  to 
abandon  elbow  sleeves.  Now  please  let  go  the 
brush." 

"  Miss  Vernor,  why  should  you  be  so  cruel 
to  yourself?  Do  go  up  to  the  doctor  at 
once ! " 

"  And  take  him  away  from  Phebe  ?  I  will 
not.  It  won't  hurt  any  more  now  than  it  has 
done  already.  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  have 
the  brush,  Mr.  Halloway.  I  am  losing  time." 


I32  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Halloway  relinquished  it  without  speaking, 
and  went  quietly  out  of  the  room,  and  Gerald 
unconcernedly  resumed  her  work,  scarcely 
pausing  to  wonder  where  he  had  gone  or 
what  he  intended.  He  returned  just  as  she 
had  finished,  and  lifting  the  lamp  back  to  the 
table,  called  to  her  :  "  Will  you  come  here, 
please  ?  " 

"  What  in  the  world  have  you  there  ?  "  she 
inquired,  coming  up  to  him  in  sheer  curiosity. 

"  Soap.  I  found  the  way  to  the  kitchen,  you 
see.  I  had  to  bring  the  water  in  this  tin  thing. 
I  did  n't  know  where  to  look  for  a  cup." 

"  Pray  what  is  it  for  ?  " 

"  For  you.  Soap  is  good  for  burns.  Will 
you  let  me  take  your  hand,  please  ?  " 

Gerald  put  the  wounded  member  behind  her. 
"  Thank  you.  I  neither  require  nor  desire 
assistance." 

"  Pardon  me,  you  do  require  it,  and  if  you 
refuse  to  see  the  doctor " 

"  Is  that  any  reason  why  I  should  resort  to 
you — and  kitchen  soap  ?  " 

"  I  grant  it  is  a  very  homely  remedy,  Miss 
Vernor,  but  it  is  an  excellent  one  and  the  only 
one  I  know." 


GERALD   OBEYS  ORDERS.  133 

"  I  daresay.  It  is  one  more  than  I  know 
of." 

"  You  will  not  try  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  afraid  of  the  pain  attend 
ing  the  dressing  ?  " 

It  was  a  masterly  stroke.  Gerald  gave  him 
one  look  of  intense  scorn,  almost  of  anger,  and 
immediately  reached  out  her  hand.  "  I  am 
afraid  of  nothing — not  even  of  your  lack  of 
skill." 

Denham  took  her  hand  without  further  cere 
mony,  and  holding  it  firmly,  pushed  back  the 
hanging  lace  from  her  arm  and  began  rubbing 
the  soap  over  the  burns,  without  so  much  as  a 
word  of  pity  for  the  pain  he  knew  he  was 
giving  her.  She  winced  involuntarily  at  the 
first  touch,  but  set  her  teeth  tightly  lest  she 
should  cry  out.  It  hurt  her  cruelly.  "  I  was 
not  aware  before  that  the  custody  of  souls 
extended  to  that  of  the  temples  they  inhabit," 
she  said,  when  she  could  command  herself 
sufficiently  to  assume  a  supreme  indifference 
of  tone.  "  You  believe  in  purely  household 
remedies,  I  see." 


134  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  I  believe  always  in  doing  what  I  can  with 
what  means  I  have.  One  moment  more, 
please.  I  am  not  quite  through." 

Gerald  held  out  her  hand  again.  "  Perhaps 
you  had  better  try  sandstone  on  it  this  time,  or 
a  little  burning  oil." 

Halloway  did  not  answer,  but  hastily  tearing 
his  handkerchief  into  strips,  bound  the  arm  as 
closely  as  he  could.  "  There,"  he  said,  survey 
ing  the  bandages  critically,  and  inwardly  well 
pleased  with  his  success  ;  "at  least  that  will 
do  till  you  can  see  the  doctor." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  quite  through  now?" 
asked  Gerald,  in  mock  submission.  "  You  don't 
think  it  necessary  to  put  the  arm  in  a  splint,  or 
to  fasten  weights  to  it,  or  to  amputate  the  first 
joint  of  the  thumb  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  is  all  I  know 
how  to  do  for  you,  Miss  Vernor." 

"  Then  I  will  go  back  to  Miss  Lydia.  By 
the  way,  would  you  recommend  soap  also  for 
hysterics  ?  " 

"  Applied  with  a  close  bandage  over  the 
mouth  ?  Certainly.  It  will  be  both  effectual 
and  immediate." 


GERALD  OBEYS  ORDERS.  135 

"Thank  you.     Good-night". 

"  Will  you  not  shake  hands  with  me  ?  " 

Gerald  turned  as  she  was  moving  off  and 
held  out  her  hand,  more  as  a  queen  might  have 
extended  it  in  motion  of  dismissal  than  as  friend 
to  friend.  Denham  took  it  between  both  his. 
"  Before  you  go,  I  want  to  thank  you  in  the 
name  of  all  Miss  Phebe's  friends,"  he  said, 
earnestly.  "  You  have  saved  her  life  to-night, 
and  at  the  risk  of  your  own." 

"  The  table-cloth  was  her  savior,  not  I,"  re 
turned  Gerald,  lightly,  but  with  a  softened  voice. 
"  And  anyway,  is  it  not  quite  thanks  enough 
only  to  know  that  Phebe  is  safe?  Now  good 
night  in  earnest." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

/ 

JOPPA'S   MINISTRATIONS   TO   THE   SICK. 

ALL  news,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  flies 
equally  fast  in  Joppa  ;  and  had  there 
been  a  town-crier  deputed  for  the  purpose, 
Phebe's  accident  could  not  have  sooner  become 
a  household  tale  in  even  the  most  distant  dis 
tricts  of  the  place.  After  a  contradiction  of  the 
first  rumor,  reporting  her  burned  to  a  crisp  and 
only  recognizable  by  a  ring  of  her  mother's  on 
her  left  hand, — which  ring  by-the-way  she  never 
wore, — and  after  a  contradiction  in  due  course 
of  the  second  rumor,  reporting  Gerald  to  be 
lying  in  the  agonies  of  death  and  Phebe  to  have 
escaped  without  a  hair  singed,  followed  a  period 
of  dire  uncertainty,  when  nobody  knew  what  to 
believe,  and  felt  only  an  obstinate  conviction 
that  everybody  else  had  got  it  entirely  wrong. 
But  at  last  the  story  straightened  itself  out  into 
something  bearing  a  family  resemblance  to  actual 

136 


JOPPA' S  MINISTRATIONS  TO  THE  SICK. 

facts,  and  then  Joppa  settled  itself  resolutely 
down  to  doing  its  duty.  My  duty  toward  my 
sick  neighbor  in  Joppa  consists  in  calling  twice 
a  day,  if  not  oftener,  at  his  house  ;  in  inquiring 
after  his  condition  down  to  minutest  and  most 
sacred  details  ;  in  knowing  accurately  how  many 
hours  he  slept  last  night,  and  what  he  ate  for 
breakfast,  and  what  is  paid  the  sick-nurse,  and 
if  it  includes  her  washing.  My  second  duty 
toward  my  sick  neighbor  is  to  bring  him  some 
thing  to  eat,  on  the  supposition  that  "outside 
things  taste  differently  ;  "  or  something  to  look 
at ;  or,  if  nothing  better,  at  least  something  to  re 
fuse.  My  third  and  last  duty  toward  my  neigh 
bor, — the  well  neighbor  who  possesses  the  sick 
one, — is  to  narrate  every  somewhat  similar  case 
on  record,  with  all  its  circumstances  and  the 
ultimate  career  of  the  sufferer ;  to  prescribe 
remedies  as  infallible  as  the  Pope  ;  to  disap 
prove  wholly,  and  on  the  best  grounds,  of  those 
in  actual  use  ;  to  offer  every  assistance  in  and 
out  of  my  power  ;  and  to  say  at  leaving  that  I 
hope  it  may  all  turn  out  well,  but  that  / 
should  have  called  in  the  other  doctor.  Joppa 
had  learned  by  heart  its  duty  toward  its  neigh- 


138  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

bor  from  its  earliest,  stammering  infancy,  and  it 
adhered  strictly  to  the  path  therein  marked  out. 
It  inquired  after  Phebe  diligently  ;  it  thorough 
ly  mastered  all  possible  intricacies  of  her  case  ; 
it  made  her  gifts  digestible  and  indigestible ;  and 
it  said  that,  by  all  odds,  it  was  Dr.  Harrison  who 
should  have  attended  her  from  the  first.  Dr. 
Dennis  took  very  good  care  of  her,  neverthe 
less,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  pronounced 
that  all  she  needed  was  quiet  and  rest  to  com 
plete  the  cure. 

"  We  shall  have  her  out  of  bed  in  a  few  days 
now,  Mrs.  Lane  ;  in  a  week  or  so  perhaps,"  he 
said,  as  he  passed  out  at  the  front  door  where 
Mrs.  Lane  was  standing  talking  with  Mrs. 
Hardcastle.  "  She  is  doing  very  well,  as  well 
as  I  could  wish.  All  she  needs  is  rest.  Keep 
her  perfectly  cjuiet."  And  the  doctor  bowed 
himself  off,  first  politely  inquiring  of  Mrs.  Hard- 
castle  after  her  husband's  gout  and  her  own 
dyspepsia. 

"  He  is  a  fair-spoken  man,  certainly,  very," 
said  Mrs.  Hardcastle,  "  though  I  won't  say  that  I 
should  n't  prefer  Dr.  Harrison  in  the  long  run 
as  surest  to  bring  his  patient  through.  I  think 


JOPPA'S  MINISTRATIONS  TO  THE  SICK.      139 

I  '11  just  go  up  with  this  myself  to  Phebe,  Mrs. 
Lane.  I  suppose  she  's  longing  for  visitors  by 
now,  poor  soul !  " 

"  Well,  I  dare  say.  You  know  her  room, — 
just  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Go  right  up,  and 
I  '11  step  out  to  market." 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hardcastle, 
rustling  into  Phebe's  room,  "  I  thought  I  would 
come  up  and  have  a  look  at  you  myself  to  make 
sure  how  you  were.  No,  don't  move.  You  do 
look  pale,  but  that  's  all.  Glad  to  see  your 
pretty  face  is  n't  harmed.  Why,  I  heard  one 
whole  side  of  it  was  about  burned  off.  I'  ve 
brought  you  some  wine-jelly,  my  dear." 

"  She  had  a  lot  yesterday,  Pheeb  did,"  said 
Oily,  who  was  curled  up  with  a  geography  in  a 
corner  of  the  room  and  furtively  cutting  Europe 
out  of  the  maps.  "  She  does  n't  need  any 
more." 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  some  ot  my  own  make.  This 
is  quite  different  from  anybody  else's,"  declared 
Mrs.  Hardcastle.  "  Phebe  remembers  my  jelly 
of  old,  don't  you,  dear  ?  " 

Phebe  smiled  faintly.  All  she  remembered 
at  the  moment  was  being  invariably  requested 


140  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

by  the  good  lady  to  come  and  make  it  for  her 
whenever  she  gave  a  party. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  talking  and  so  I  ventured 
to  come  up  too,"  said  a  timid  voice,  and  Miss 
Delano  tiptoed  softly  in.  "  Phebe,  my  dear 
child,  my  dear  child !  "  and  the  soft-hearted  little 
old  maid  stooped  to  kiss  Phebe's  pale  cheek, 
and  straightway  began  to  whimper. 

"  Come,  none  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Upjohn's 
peremptory  tones,  as  that  lady  swept  into  the 
little  room,  seeming  to  fill  it  all  to  overflowing. 
"  I  met  the  doctor  just  now  and  he  said  Phebe 
was  to  be  kept  perfectly  quiet.  Don't  let 's  have 
any  weeping  over  her.  She  wants  cheering  up, 
and  she  is  n't  quite  dead  yet,  you  know,  though 
really  the  evening  before  last,  Phebe,  I  heard 
that  you  were  n't  expected  to  live  the  night 
through." 

"  How  ridiculous  !  said  Gerald,  impatiently. 
"  Miss  Delano,  will  you  have  a  chair  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no,  dear.  I  '11  just  sit  here  on 
the  bed,"  said  the  little  old  dame,  humbly, 
anxi6us  not  to  make  any  one  any  trouble.  "  O 
Phebe,  my  dear  !  " 

Phebe  smiled  at  her  affectionately,  and  Mrs. 


J OP  PA'S  MINISTRA  TIONS  TO  THE  SICK.      14! 

Hardcastle,  who  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
when  Mrs.  Upjohn  came  in,  sat  down  again  to 
ask  that  lady  about  the  character  of  a  servant 
whom  she  had  just  engaged. 

"  I  thought  I  should  have  died  when  I  heard 
it,"  said  Miss  Delano,  patting  Phebe's  cheek. 
"  Poor  dear,  poor  dear  !  And  they  say  you 
won't  ever  be  able  to  walk  again  !  " 

"  Who  says  that  ?  "  asked  Phebe,  laughing. 
"  I  shall  be  a  terrible  disappointment  to  them." 

"  'T  ain't  her  legs  at  all ;  it  's  her  shoulders," 
said  Oily,  as  he  emerged  from  his  corner,  chew 
ing  Europe  into  a  pasteboard  ball.  "  What 
have  you  got  in  that  paper  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  blessed  child,  and  I  was  torgetting 
it  My  dear,  it  's  just  a  little  sponge-cake  I 
made  free  to  bring  you,  it  turned  out  so  light. 
Don't  you  think  you  could  eat  a  bit  perhaps  ?  " 

"  My,  but  it  looks  good !  "  said  Oily,  ap 
proaching  a  hungry  finger  and  poking  at  it 
softly.  "  I'll  get  a  knife." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  allow  any  such  trash  as 
that  about,  Miss  Vernor,"  said  Mrs.  Upjohn, 
sharply,  in  the  middle  of  her  discussion  of  Jane's 
demerits.  "  Phebe  ought  to  be  exceedingly 


142  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

carefui  what  she  eats  for  a  great  while  to  come. 
It 's  doubtful,  indeed,  whether  her  stomach  ever 
recovers  its  tone  after  such  a  shock.  I  knew 
one  woman  who  died  just  of  the  shock  alone 
some  two  months  after  precisely  such  an  acci 
dent  as  this,  when  everybody  thought  she  had 
got  well,  and  Phebe  must  be  very  careful.  Her 
appetite  is  not  to  be  tempted,  but  guided." 

"  Well,  ladies,  I  must  be  going,"  announced 
Mrs.  Hardcastle,  rising.  "  You  really  think  I 
am  safe,  then,  in  engaging  her,  Mrs.  Upjohn  ? " 
But  just  then  Mrs.  Dexter  came  in  with  two  of 
her  daughters,  and  Mrs.  Hardcastle  sat  down 
again. 

"  There  was  no  one  downstairs,  and  as  the 
doctor  says  Phebe  is  so  much  better,  we  thought 
we  might  just  come  up,"  said  the  new-comer. 
"  Why,  Phebe,  you  are  as  blooming  as  a  rose, 
and  I  understood  you  had  lost  all  your  pretty 
hair.  I  Ve  brought  you  some  grapes,  my  dear, 
and  a  jar  of  extra  fine  brandy  peaches,  and  little 
Maggie  insisted  on  sending  some  molasses 
candy  she  had  just  made. 

"  Well,  well,  I  did  look  for  more  sense  from 
you"  said  Mrs.  Upjohn,  tapping  Mrs.  Dexter. 


JOPPA'S  MINISTRA  TIONS  TO  THE  SICK.      145 

rather  smartly  on  the  shoulder.  "  Where  '11  you 
sit  ?  Oh,  on  the  bed.  Yes,  Phebe  's  had  a  nar 
row  escape,  and  one  she  '11  likely  bear  the  marks 
of  to  her  dying  day.  Let  it  be  a  warning  to 
you,  young  ladies,  to  be  prepared.  There  's  no 
knowing  how  soon  some  one  of  you  may  not 
be  carried  off  in  the  same  way, — just  as  you  are 
dressed  for  a  dance,  maybe."  Her  tone  im 
plied  that  death  could  not  overtake  them  at  a 
more  sinful  moment. 

"  Hullo,  up  there !  I  say  !  "  shouted  a  voice 
in  the  hall  below,  "  how 's  Phebe  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  Dick  !  "  cried  the  Dexter  girls  in  a 
breath.  "  You  can't  come  up,  Dick." 

"  Aint  a-going  to.  But  a  fellow  can  speak, 
can't  he,  without  his  body  a-following  his  voice  ? 
How  's  Phebe  ?  " 

"  She  's  splendid." 

"  What 's  the  doctor  say  ?  " 

"  He  says  she  only  needs  to  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet." 

"  Hooray  ! "  said  Dick,  and  apparently  exe 
cuted  a  war-dance  on  the  oil-cloth,  while  Oily 
profited  by  the  general  hubbub  created  by  the 
entrance  of  two  more  ladies,  to  satisfactorily  in 
vestigate  the  sponge-cake. 


144  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Why,  quite  a  levee,  is  n't  it,  Phebe  ?  "  said 
ctae  of  the  last  arrivals,  looking  in  vain  for  a 
chair,  and  forced  to  seat  herself  on  a  low  table, 
accidentally  upsetting  Phebe's  medicines  as  she 
did  so. 

"  Yes,  altogether  too  much  of  one,"  said 
Gerald,  knitting  her  brows  as  she  rescued  a 
bottle  just  in  time,  and  darted  an  angry  glance 
around  the  crowded  room.  "  Phebe  is  n't  at  all 
equal  to  it  yet." 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Vernor,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Upjohn,  drawing  out  her  tatting  from  her 
pocket,  and  settling  herself  at  it  with  an  answer 
ing  frown.  "  There  are  quite  too  many  here. 
Some  people  never  know  when  to  stay  away." 

"  Oh,  there  's  Bell.  I  hear  her  voice,"  called 
Mattie,  running  to  look  over  the  banisters. 
"  She 's  got  both  Mr.  De  Forest  and  Mr.  Moul- 
ton  with  her." 

There  was  a  sound  of  many  voices  below,  a 
giggling,  a  rush  for  the  stairs,  and  a  playful 
scuffle. 

"  It 's  me  "  (Bell's  voice) ;  "  Dick  won't  let  me 

pass." 

"Me  is  Bell"  (Dick's  voice) ;  "she  would  n't 


yOPPA'S  MINISTRA  TIONS  TO  THE  SICK.      145 

pass  if  she  could.  Too  many  fellows  down  here 
for  her  to  want  to  leave  'em.  Send  us  down  a 
girl  or  two  from  up  there,  can't  you  ?  " 

A  girl  or  two,  however,  apparently  appeared 
from  outside,  greetings  were  called  up  to  Phebe, 
offerings  of  flowers  and  delicacies  transmitted 
via  Dick  on  the  stairs  to  Oily  at  the  top  (who 
took  toll  by  the  way),  and  the  liveliest  kind  of 
a  time  went  on.  It  was  quite  like  a  party, 
Dick  shouted  up,  only  that  there  was  no  ice 
cream  and  a  singular  scarcity  of  girls. 

"  It 's  a  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Upjohn,  severely,  in 
her  chair,  while  Gerald  held  her  peace,  too 
wrathful  to  speak,  and  conscious  of  her  inability 
to  mend  matters.  "  I  should  think  people  might 
have  sense  enough  not  to  crowd  all  the  air  out 
of  a  sick-room  in  this  fashion." 

"  It 's  exceedingly  inconsiderate  of  them,  I 
am  sure,"  answered  Mrs.  Hardcastle,  drawing  a 
sofa  cushion  behind  her  back.  "  She  ought  to 
be  so  quiet." 

"  Phebe  !  "  shouted  Dick.  "  Here 's  the  par 
son.  He  wants  to  know  if  you  're  dead  yet. 
Sha'n't  I  send  him  up  ?  It  will  be  all  right,  you 
know,  quite  the  thing,,  He  's  a  parson,  and 
wears  a  gown  on  Sundays." 


146  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT, 

"  Dick,  Dick!  "  screamed  his  mother.  "Was 
there  ever  such  a  lad  !  " 

"He's  coming.  Get  ready  for  him.  Have 
out  your  Prayer-books,"  called  Dick. 

Phebe,  flushed  crimson,  and  looked  implor 
ingly  at  Gerald.  An  indignant  murmur  ran 
through  the  room.  Mrs.  Upjohn  drew  herself 
up  to  her  severest  height.  "  What  shameless 
impertinence !  How  dare  he  intrude  ! "  A  shout 
of  unholy  laughter  downstairs  followed  Dick's 
sally. 

"  Mr.  Halloway  is  n't  there  at  all,"  cried  Oily, 
his  fine,  clear  voice  pitched  high  above  the  rest. 
"  He  only  asked  about  Pheeb  at  the  door,  and 
went  right  off." 

"Well,  he  left  this  for  her  with  his  compli 
ments,  and  this,  and  this,"  called  Dick,  rum 
maging  in  his  pockets,  and  tossing  up  an  apple, 
and  then  a  hickory  nut,  and  last  a  good-sized 
and  dangerously  ripe  tomato.  Oily  caught 
them  dexterously  with  a  yell  of  delight,  and  was 
immediately  rushed  at  by  three  of  the  nearest 
ladies  and  ordered  not  to  make  a  noise,  for 
Phebe  was  to  be  kept  perfectly  quiet. 

"  Such  doings  would  never  be  permitted  a 


JOPPA'S  MINISTRATIONS  TO  THE  SICK.      147 

moment  if  she  had  only  been  in  Dr.  Harrison's 
hands,"  said  Mrs.  Upjohn,  in  denunciatory  tones. 
"  He  would  have  forbidden  her  to  see  any  one. 
It  is  scandalous." 

"  It  is  outrageous,"  added  Mrs.  Hardcastle. 
"  Most  inconsiderate." 

"  Ah,  I  can't  get  over  it  that  it  is  n't  your 
legs,  poor  dear !  "  murmured  Miss  Delano,  still 
plaintively  overcome.  "  And  you  will  walk, 
after  all?" 

"  Dr.  Dennis  is  an  excellent  physician,"  said 
Mrs.  Dexter,  somewhat  defiantly.  It  was  im 
possible  not  to  enter  the  lists  against  Mrs.  Up 
john.  This  last  lady  was  immediately  up  in  arms, 
and  a  heated  discussion  as  to  the  respective 
skill  of  the  two  practitioners  took  place,  every 
body  gradually  taking  sides  with  one  or  the  other 
of  the  leaders,  and  forgetting  both  poor  exhausted 
Phebe  and  the  noise  downstairs,  which  finally 
culminated  in  a  rousing  lullaby  led  by  Bell,  and 
lustily  seconded  by  half  a  dozen  others  : 

"  Slumber  on,  Phebe  dear  ; 
Do  not  hear  us  fellows  sigh  !  " 

The  song,  however,  suddenly   stopped  in  the 


148  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT, 

midst.  Some  one  seemed  speaking  very  low 
and  softly,  and  neither  the  chorus  nor  the 
laughter  nor  the  tumult  was  resumed.  Phebe 
drew  a  deep  breath.  Was  relief  really  coming 
at  last  ?  Yes.  Sceur  Angelique  stood  in  the 
door-way. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me,  ladies,"  she  said,  in  that 
soft,  irresistible  voice  of  hers,  as  she  laid  aside 
bonnet  and  shawl  in  a  quiet,  business-like  way. 
"  I  came  to  relieve  Miss  Vernor  and  play  nurse 
for  a  while,  and  I  think  Phebe  looks  as  if  she 
needed  a  little  sleep.  If  you  will  kindly  take 
leave  of  her,  I  will  darken  the  room  at  once." 

She  stood  so  evidently  waiting  for  them  to 
go,  that  in  a  few  moments  they  all  found  them 
selves  somehow  or  other  outside  the  door,  with 
Gerald  politely  escorting  them  down-stairs,  and 
Oily  dancing  joyously  ahead,  crying  that  Mr. 
Halloway  had  sent  for  him  to  the  rectory.  Left 
mistress  of  the  situation,  Mrs.  Whittridge  pro 
ceeded  to  draw  down  the  shades,  straighten  the 
chairs,  smooth  the  bedclothes  and  rearrange 
the  pillows,  all  with  the  noiseless,  graceful  move 
ments  peculiar  to  her.  Then  she  drew  a  low 
chair  up  to  the  bedside,  and  laid  her  cool  hand 


JOPPA'S  MINISTRATIONS  TO  THE  SICK.      149 

soothingly  on  Phebe's  forehead.  A  great  peace 
seemed  suddenly  to  fill  the  room. 

"  Now,  my  darling,  you  must  sleep.  Between 
them  they  have  quite  worn  you  out." 

"  Who  told  you  I  needed  you? "  asked  Phebe, 
drawing  the  gentle  hand  down  to  her  lips. 
"  How  did  you  happen  to  come  just  when  I 
wanted  you  so  ?  " 

"  Denham  sent  me  over,"  answered  Sceur 
Angelique.  "  He  thought  perhaps  I  could 
make  it  a  little  quieter  for  you." 

"  Ah,"  murmured  Phebe.  A  faint  tinge  crept 
up  into  her  white  cheeks.  She  turned  her 
head  away  and  closed  her  eyes.  "I  knew  it 
was  he  who  sent  you." 


CHAPTER   X. 

AN  APOLOGY  AND   ITS  CONSEQUENCES. 

IT  was  some  days  after  Phebe's  accident 
before  Halloway  saw  Gerald  again.  She 
was  generally  upstairs  when  he  called,  or 
driving  or  sailing  with  De  Forest,  who  was  in 
daily  attendance  upon  her,  paying  her  persist 
ent,  blase  devotion.  She  was  in  the  parlor 
one  evening,  however,  sitting  with  De  Forest 
near  the  door,  when  Denham  came  in,  but  he 
merely  bowed  to  her  and  passed  on  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  where  Mrs.  Lane  was 
seated  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardcastle.  Mr. 
Hardcastle  rose  at  once  to  receive  him.  "  Ah, 
good- evening,  good -evening.  Pray  take  a 
seat.  I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  I  suppose 
you  came  to  ask  after  our  little  invalid.  Sad 
accident,  sir ;  sad  accident,  very.  It  has  kept  us 
most  anxious  and  busy  seeing  after  her.  But 
she  is  doing  nicely  now.  We  shall  have  her 

150 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      I$I 

about  again  before  we  know  it."  He  spoke  as 
if  her  recovery  were  altogether  due  to  himself, 
for  the  regularity  with  which  he  had  fulfilled  his 
neighborly  duties  toward  her,  and  he  paused 
and  looked  at  Halloway  for  a  recognition  of  the 
same. 

"  It  will  be  a  bright  day  for  us  all  when  we 
have  her  among  us  once  more,"  Halloway  said 
in  answer  to  the  look.  "  You  must  tell  her 
how  much  we  miss  her,  Mrs.  Lane." 

"  Ah,  that  we  do,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hard- 
castle.  "  My  knitting  has  been  at  a  standstill 
ever  since  the  poor  dear  child's  misfortune.  I 
have  been  so  thankful  her  hands  were  spared. 
There  's  always  some  cause  for  gratitude  in 
every  evil,  after  all." 

"  That  's  one  way  of  looking  at  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Lane,  turning  up  the  lamp  and  drawing  her 
work-basket  nearer.  "  The  Lord  make  us 
thankful  for  all  our  mercies,  but  a  misfortune  *s 
a  misfortune,  and  I  don't  know  as  we  're  called 
upon  to  look  at  it  as  any  thing  else.  Won't 
you  sit  down,  Mr.  Halloway  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  not  this  evening.  It  is  nearly 
time  for  service.  I  only  wanted  to  know  that 
Miss  Phebe  was  doing  well." 


1 52  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Mr.  Hardcastle  rose  again  to  bow  off  the 
guest.  "  Sorry  you  can't  stay,  sir.  In  spite  of 
our  difference  of  faith, — and  how  great  it  is  I 
am  in  hopes  you  will  appreciate  some  day 
when  you  have  come  to  see  the  errors  of  the 
way  you  are  walking  in, — in  spite  of  our  ma 
terial  differences,  I  say,  you  are  always  very 
welcome  at  any  time.  But  pray  don't  let  us 
detain  you  from  what  you  deem  your  duty." 

"  Mr.  Halloway,  a  moment,  please,"  said 
Gerald,  rising  as  he  was  going  by.  He 
stopped,  and  she  came  toward  him  holding 
out  her  hand.  "  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  of  the  other  night.  I  believe  I  was 
ungrateful  and  perhaps  rude  at  the  time,  and  I 
have  not  seen  you  since  to  apologize." 

"  Pray  do  not  speak  of  it !  "  said  Denham, 
flushing  a  little  as  he  took  her  hand.  "  There 
was  no  occasion  whatever  for  gratitude,  and 
therefore  no  possible  lack  of  it.  I  trust  you  are 
quite  well  now." 

"  There  was  occasion  for  gratitude,"  persisted 
Gerald,  "  or  at  least  for  an  acknowledgment  of 
your  kindness,  and  it  is  because  I  am  ashamed 
of  my  remissness  that  I  take  this  first  oppor 
tunity  to  thank  you." 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES       153 

"  You  embarrass  me,"  said  Denham,  laugh 
ingly.  "  I  am  not  at  all  accustomed  to  having 
public  restitution  made  me  in  this  manner,  and 
especially  for  purely  imaginary  slights.  But 
may  I  not  be  permitted  now — as  a  sort  of 
reward  if  you  will — to  inquire  if  you  have  quite 
recovered  ?  " 

"  At  least  I  have  sufficiently  recovered  to  re 
tract  my  disbelief  in  kitchen  soap,  and — and  in 
your  skill,"  she  added,  with  a  little  visible  effort. 

"  You  honor  us  above  our  deserts, — the  soap 
and  me,"  answered  Denham,  playfully.  "  I 
don't  know  how  deleteriously  it  may  affect  the 
soap,  but  as  for  me  I  feel  myself  growing  alarm 
ingly  conceited.  So  good-night." 

"  What  a  very  elaborate  apology,"  said  De 
Forest,  as  Denham  went  out.  "  If  the  offence 
were  at  all  proportionate,  I  tremble  to  think  of 
the  enormity  of  your  crime  ;  or  is  it  because  he 
is  a  Reverend,  that  you  demean  yourself  so 
humbly  before  him  ?  " 

Halloway  was  still  hunting  for  his  hat  in  the 
hall,  and  could  scarcely  help  overhearing  De 
Forest's  remark  and  Gerald's  answer. 

"  I  demean  myself  before  nobody  in  seeking 


154  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

to  make  amends  for  a  previous  neglect.  The 
humiliation  is  in  the  misconduct,  not  in  the  con 
fession  of  it ;  and  whether  I  owed  the  apology 
to  Mr.  Halloway  or  to  a  beggar  in  the  street,  I 
should  have  made  it  quite  the  same,  not  at  all 
for  sake  of  his  pardon,  but  simply  for  sake  of 
clearing  my  own  conscience." 

"  Not  at  all  for  sake  of  my  pardon,"  said 
Denham,  as  he  strode  on  toward  the  church, 
with  the  uncomfortable  sensation  of  having  been 
an  involuntary  eavesdropper.  "  It  is  fortunate 
that  my  conceit  was  only  veneered  on." 

The  following  Sunday  Gerald  was  in  church 
both  morning  and  evening,  sitting  in  Phebe's 
accustomed  place.  She  was  one  of  those  notice 
able  presences  impossible  to  overlook,  and  as 
Denham  mounted  into  the  pulpit  he  felt  as  if 
he  were  preaching  solely  to  her,  or  rather  as  if 
hers  were  the  only  criticism  he  feared  in  all  the 
friendly  congregation.  He  was  annoyed  that 
he  should  feel  so,  and  quite  conscious  at  the 
same  time  that  he  was  far  from  doing  his  best, 
and  once  or  twice  he  caught  a  flash  in  the  seri 
ous  eyes  fastened  on  his  face,  that  seemed  to 
say  she  knew  this  last  fact  too,  and  was  impa- 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      155 

tient  with  him  for  it.  What  excuse  had  any  one, 
in  Gerald's  eyes,  for  not  doing  his  best  always  ? 
De  Forest  was  with  her  in  the  evening,  and  as 
Halloway  came  out  of  the  vestry  after  service, 
he  found  himself  directly  behind  them. 

"  He  's  not  a  mighty  orator,"  De  Forest  was 
saying  with  his  cynical  drawl.  "  I  doubt  if  he 
is  destined  to  be  one  of  the  pillars  or  even 
one  of  the  cushions  of  the  church." 

"  He  was  not  doing  his  best  to-night,"  an 
swered  Gerald. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Halloway,  coming  quickly 
to  her  side,  anxious  to  avoid  further  eavesdrop 
ping.  "Thank  you — I  mean  for  thinking  I  might 
do  better." 

"  That  is  not  much  to  be  grateful  for,  I  am 
afraid,"  replied  Gerald,  "  since  it  implies,  you 
know,  that  you  have  not  done  well." 

"  I  hope  you  like  uncompromising  truth,  Mr. 
Halloway,"  said  De  Forest,  leaning  forward  to 
look  at  him  across  Gerald.  "  It 's  the  only  kind 
Miss  Vernor  deals  in." 

"  I  prefer  it  infinitely  to  the  most  flattering 
falsehood  imaginable,"  answered  Denham. 

"  I  believe  clergymen  are  usually  the  last 


156  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

people  to  hear  the  truth  about  themselves," 
continued  Gerald.  "  Their  position  at  the  head  of 
a  community,  pre-supposes  their  capability  for 
the  office,  and  naturally  places  them  outside  of 
the  criticism  of  those  under  their  immediate 
charge,  who  are  nevertheless  just  the  ones  best 
qualified  to  judge  them.  But  of  course  scholars 
may  not  teach  the  teacher." 

"  What  an  invaluable  opening  for  you  who 
are  not  one  of  Mr.  Halloway's  flock,"  said  De 
Forest,  "  to  undertake  to  remedy  the  deficiency, 
and  to  be  in  yourself  a  whole  critical  public  to 
him,  a  licensed  Free  Press  as  it  were,  pointing  out 
all  his  errors  with  the  most  unhesitating  frank 
ness  and  unsparing  perspicuity  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  your  love  of  truth  would  hold 
out  long  under  such  a  crucial  test  ? "  asked 
Gerald,  turning  quite  seriously  to  Denham. 
The  moonlight  shone  full  on  her  clear-cut, 
cameo-like  face.  Her  eyes,  with  their  shadowy 
fringe,  looked  deeper  and  blacker  than  midnight. 
It  did  not  seem  possible  that  truth  spoken  by 
her  could  be  any  thing  but  beautiful  too.  Den- 
ham  smiled  down  at  her  seriousness. 

"  Try  me." 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      1 57 

"  Well,  then,  it  seems  to  me  you  do  not  often 
enough  try  to  do  your  best.  You  are  content 
ed  to  do  well,  and  not  ambitious  to  do  better. 
You  are  quite  satisfied,  so  I  think,  if  your  ser 
mons  are  good  enough  to  please  generally,  in 
stead  of  seeking  to  raise  your  standard  all  the 
time  by  hard  effort  toward  improvement,  and  I 
doubt,  therefore,  if  at  the  end  of  a  year  your 
sermons  will  show  any  marked  change  from 
what  they  are  to-day.  Am  I  too  hard  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  just,"  answered  Denham, 
pleasantly,  though  the  blood  mounted  to  his 
face.  "  You  have  found  out  my  weak  spot. 
I  confess  I  am  not  ambitious.  I  aspire  to  no 
greatness  of  any  kind." 

"  You  have  discovered  the  secret  of  content 
ment,"  said  De  Forest,  with  effusive  approba 
tion.  "  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you,  Mr.  Hallo- 
way.  You  are  the  one  happy  man  I  know." 

"  The  secret  of  contentment  ? "  repeated 
Gerald.  "  Say  rather  the  principle  of  all 
stagnation,  mental  and  spiritual.  Not  to  as 
pire  to  become  greater  than  one  can  be  is 
to  fall  short  of  becoming  all  that  one  may  be ; 
to  be  satisfied  with  one's  powers  is  to  dwarf 
them  hopelessly." 


I $8  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  A  powerful  argument  against  conceit,"  re 
flected  De  Forest.  "  Still,  upon  my  word,  I 
think  I  would  as  lief  be  conceited  in  every 
pore  as  eternally  in  a  state  of  dissatisfaction 
with  myself  about  every  thing." 

"  It  is  well,  above  all,  I  think,  to  have  a  just 
appreciation  of  one's  own  powers  or  lack  of 
powers,"  said  Denham,  slowly.  "  Ambition, 
without  the  corresponding  strength  to  gratify 
it,  is  a  cruel  taskmaster." 

"  How  can  you  tell,  till  you  have  tried,  that 
there  is  no  corresponding  strength  ? "  asked 
Gerald,  turning  full  upon  him  again.  How 
marvellously  expressive  her  face  was,  with  its 
earnest  eyes  and  mobile  mouth  !  "  If  I  were  a 
man, — and  great  heavens !  how  I  wish  I  were 
one ! — I  would  create  the  strength  if  it  were 
not  there  of  itself.  I  would  force  myself  up 
ward.  I  would  never  rest  till  I  had  become 
something  more  than  nature  originally  made 

H 

me. 

"  Then  Heaven  be  thanked,  who  has  spared 
us  the  monstrosity  you  would  have  developed 
into  under  the  harrowing  circumstances  of  a  -re 
versal  of  your  sex,"  said  De  Forest,  devoutly. 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      1 59 

"  I  was  always  glad  you  were  a  woman.     Now 
I  am  positively  aglow  with  gratitude  for  it." 

Denham  was  silent.  They  had  reached  Mrs. 
Lane's  now,  and  Gerald  and  her  cavalier  paused. 

"  I  have  not  hurt  you,  Mr.  Halloway,  have 
I  ? "  said  Gerald,  more  gently.  "  I  know  I 
sometimes  speak  strongly  where  I  am  least 
qualified  to  do  so." 

"  A  very  womanly  trait,"  put  in  De  Forest. 
"  Don't  apologize  for  your  one  redeeming  weak 
ness." 

"  No,  you  have  not  hurt  me,"  said  Denham,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  I  hope  you  have  done  me  good." 
And  without  adding  even  a  good-night  or  a  mes 
sage  for  Phebe,  he  lifted  his  hat  and  crossed 
over  to  the  rectory.  His  sister  was  not  there 
as  he  entered  her  sitting-room,  and  throwing 
himself  down  on  the  sofa,  clasped  his  hands 
over  his  forehead  and  stared  thoughtfully  up  at 
the  ceiling.  She  had  been  sitting  with  Phebe 
while  the  Lane  household  went  to  its  various 
churches.  Phebe  was  tired,  in  consequence  of 
the  entire  population  of  Joppa  having  run  in  to 
ask  after  her  between  services  "  on  their  way 
home,"  and  she  was  not  talking  much.  But 


l6o  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

only  to  look  up  and  smile  into  Soeur  Angelique's 
sweet  face  was  pleasure  enough  for  the  girl, 
and  she  lay  very  quietly,  holding  a  rose  that 
Denham  had  sent  her  over  by  his  sister,  and 
feeling  supremely  contented. 

"  How  would  you  like  me  to  read  to  you  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Whittridge  at  last,  taking  up  a 
book.  "Shall  I  try  it?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  am  afraid  my  thoughts 
would  be  louder  than  your  words,  and  I  should 
be  listening  to  them  and  losing  what  you  are 
saying." 

"  And,  pray,  what  are  these  remarkably  noisy 
thoughts  ?  "  asked  the  lady.  "  Let  me  listen 
and  hear  them  too." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  say  just  what  they 
are,"  replied  Phebe,  dreamily.  "  They  are  run 
ning  through  my  head  more  like  indistinct 
music  than  like  real  thoughts.  And  I  never 
was  clever  at  saying  things,  you  know.  But, 
oh!  I  do  feel  very  happy." 

"  You  look  so,"  said  Sceur  Angelique, 
tenderly.  "  You  poor  little  one,  is  it  just  the 
getting  well  again  that  makes  you  so  ?  " 

Phebe   flushed  ever  so  slightly.       "  I   don't 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      l6l 

know  just  what  it  is,"  she  answered,  lifting  the 
rose  to  her  face.  "  Perhaps  it  is  only  the  listen 
ing  to  that  indistinct  music.  It  seems  to  have 
put  all  my  soul  in  tune.  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Whit- 
tridge,  what  a  beautiful  world  this  is,  when  only 
there  are  no  discords  in  one's  own  heart ! " 

A  day  or  two  went  by,  and  Phebe,  though 
rapidly  convalescing,  was  still  a  prisoner  to  her 
room. 

"  You  're  missing  a  lot  of  fun,"  said  Bell 
Masters,  sympathetically,  as  she  bustled  in  to 
see  her  one  morning,  and  sat  down  by  the 
window,  pushing  back  the  curtain  so  that  she 
could  look  out  into  the  street  and  nod  to 
passers  as  she  talked.  "  There  's  no  end  going 
on.  Dear  me,  it  's  a  shame  to  come  to  you 
empty-handed,  Phebe.  I  had  two  or  three 
rosebuds  for  you, — beauties  they  were  too,— 
but  the  fact  is  I  gave  them  away  piecemeal 
as  I  came  along,  and  I  have  n't  one  left. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  met  every  man  there  was  this 
morning.  How  soon  do  you  think  you  '11  be 
out  again  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Phebe,  pushing  a 
box  of  bonbons  within  reach  of  Bell's  easy-go- 


1 62  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

ing  fingers.     "  I  think  I  might  go  down-stairs 
now,  but  Dr.  Dennis  won't  let  me." 

"Too  bad.  You  '11  miss  Dick's  coming  of 
age,  won't  you  ?  There  are  to  be  high  doings. 
Mr.  Hardcastle  is  too  mysterious  and  pompous 
to  live.  One  can't  get  any  thing  out  of  him 
but  just  '  My  son  Dick  does  n't  come  of 
age  but  once  '  (as  if  we  thought  't  was  a 
yearly  occurrence),  '  and  we  don't  celebrate  it 
but  once.'  But  I  got  hold  of  Dick  privately 
and  wheedled  it  out  of  him  in  less  than  no  time 
with  a  piece  of  soft  gingerbread.  It  's  to  be 
something  shinning-.  His  father  wanted  to  do 
it  up  in  English  style,  dinner  to  the  tenantry, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  only  unluckily  there 
was  n't  any  tenantry,  and  he  had  to  abandon 
the  benevolent  role  and  take  to  a  jollier 
one.  He  won't  show  off  as  well,  but  we  '11 
have  a  deal  more  fun.  It 's  to  be  a  sort  of 
royal  picnic,  but  in  the  evening,  mind, — 
was  n't  that  a  brilliant  idea  for  the  old  gentle 
man  ?  We  are  all  to  go  up  in  boats,  and  there 
are  to  be  great  rafts  with  blazing  torches,  and  a 
supper  in  the  woods  grander  than  any  of 
Mrs.  Upjohn's,  and  bonfires,  and  the  band 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      163 

from  Galilee,  and  bouquets  for  the  ladies,  and 
I  don't  know  what  not,  and  best  of  all,  unlimited 
opportunities  for  flirting.  It  's  to  be  the  affair 
of  this  and  every  other  season  past  or  future. 
It  's  a  crying  shame  you  can't  go." 

"  Oh !  how  I  wish  I  could ! "  sighed  poor 
Phebe. 

"  I  made  pa  give  me  a  new  dress  for  it," 
continued  Bell,  leaning  forward  to  pick  off  the 
biggest  grapes  from  a  bunch  on  the  table.  "  I 
mean  to  look  just  too-too.  Mr.  De  Forest 
is  going  to  row  me  up.  I  don't  know  ex 
actly  how  I  made  him  ask  me,  but  I  did. 
It 's  such  a  triumph  to  get  him  away  from  Miss 
Vernor  for  once,  though  I  suspect  I  '11  have 
to  pay  for  it  by  doing  more  than  half  the  row 
ing  myself.  I  don't  suppose  he  would  exert 
his  precious  self  to  pull  an  oar  more  than 
five  minutes  at  a  time.  Amy  tried  her  best 
to  get  Mr.  Halloway,  and  so  did  the  Dexters. 
The  way  those  girls  run  after  him  is  a  caution 
even  to  me  ;  but  they  did  n't  get  him. 
He  's  monstrously  clever  in  keeping  out  of 
people's  clutches.  I  gave  him  up  long  ago  as  a 
bad  job.  Well,  good-by,  Phebe.  Awfully 


164  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

sorry  you  can't   go.     Everybody  '11  be  there, 
and  it  's  to  be  the  biggest  lark  out." 

During  the  few  days  that  intervened  before 
Dick's  birthday,  little  else  was  talked  of 
anywhere  than  Mr.  Hardcastle's  party,  which 
was  never  spoken  of,  by  the  way,  as  Mrs.  Hard- 
castle's  party,  though  upon  that  good  lady 
devolved  the  onus  of  the  weighty  preparations. 
It  seemed  purely  Mr.  Hardcastle's  affair,  just  as 
every  thing  did  in  which  he  was  in  any 
way  concerned.  Impromptu  meetings  were 
held  at  every  house  in  turn  to  discuss  the 
coming  event,  and  the  latest  bits  of  information 
regarding  it  were  retailed  with  embellishments 
proportionate  to  the  imagination  of  the  ac 
cidental  narrator.  Not  a  soul  in  Joppa  but 
knew  every  proposed  feature  of  the  entertain 
ment  better  than  the  hosts  themselves.  The 
old  people  said  it  would  be  damp  and  rheuma 
tic  and  would  certainly  be  the  death  of  them. 
The  young  people  said  it  would  be  divine, 
and  quite  worth  dying  for.  The  people  who 
were  neither  old  nor  young  said  nobody  could 
tell  how  it  would  be  till  after  it  was  over,  and 
they  felt  it  their  duty  to  go  to  look  after 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      165 

the  others.  The  day  came,  brilliantly  clear  and 
soft  and  warm  :  such  a  day,  in  short,  as  Mr. 
Hardcastle  had  felt  to  be  his  due,  and  had  ex 
pected  of  the  elements  all  along  as  the  one 
token  of  regard  in  their  power  to  accord 
him,  and  he  accepted  his  friends'  congratula 
tions  upon  it  with  a  grave  bow  which  seemed 
to  say :  "  I  ordered  it  so.  Pray,  did  you  suppose 
I  had  forgotten  to  attend  to  the  weather?" 
The  sun  set  in  a  cloudless  heaven  ;  the  evening 
star  hung  quivering  over  the  green-topped 
hills ;  the  twilight  dropped  noiseless  and 
fragrant  over  earth  and  water,  and  the  long- 
dreamed-of  moment  had  arrived  at  last. 

"  Just  let  me  have  one  more  look  at  you,  Ger 
ald,  before  you  start,"  said  Phebe,  wistfully. 
"  Oh,  how  beautiful  you  look !  Nobody's  dresses 
ever  fit  like  yours,  and  that  great  dark-red  hat 
and  feather, — I  thought  I  should  not  like  it, — 
but  it  makes  a  perfect  picture  of  you." 

"  For  pity's  sake  do  stop  !  "  begged  Gerald. 
"  You  know  of  all  things  I  hate  compliments. 
Where  's  that  boy  Oily  ?  " 

"  He  's  coming  to  me  later.  I  promised  to 
make  up  to  him  for  his  not  going  to  the  party, 
poor  little  fellow." 


1 66  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"Phebe,  dear,"  said  Gerald,  suddenly  stooping 
to  give  her  one  of  her  rare  kisses,  "  I  cannot 
bear  to  leave  you  all  alone  so.  That  miserable 
Miss  Lydia  and  Oily  are  n't  any  sort  of  com 
pany.  Let  me  stay  with  you.  I  had  a  great 
deal  rather." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  "  cried  Phebe,  almost  push 
ing  her  toward  the  door.  "  I  don't  mind  a  bit 
being  left,  and  I  would  n't  have  you  stay  for 
any  thing.  How  lovely  of  you  to  propose  it ! 
You  are  an  angel,  Gerald,  even  though  you 
don't  like  being  told  so.  Good-by.  And 
— Gerald," — she  had  followed  her  friend  out 
into  the  hall,  and  stood  leaning  against  the 
banisters, — "Gerald,  dear,  will  you  tell  Mr. 
Halloway  I  am  going  down-stairs  to-morrow?  " 

Halloway  was  to  be  Gerald's  escort  that  even 
ing,  and  stood  waiting  for  her  now  in  the  hall 
below,  and  looking  up  at  sound  of  Phebe's 
voice,  he  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and 
pleasure,  and  immediately  sprang  up  the  stairs. 

"  Miss  Phebe ! "    he   said,   taking  both  her 

hands  in  his.     "  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  once 

i " 
more! 

Phebe  shrank  back  from  him  with  a  little  cry 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES'      l6/ 

of  dismay.  Ah !  when  does  ever  any  thing  hap 
pen  exactly  as  we  plan  it  shall  ?  She  had  pictured 
this  meeting  to  herself  over  and  over  again  dur 
ing  the  long  days  of  her  seclusion, — -just  what 
he  would  say  and  what  she  would  say,  and  just 
how  she  would  dress  on  that  first  day  when  she 
went  down-stairs.  She  meant  to  look  so  partic 
ularly  nice  on  that  first  day !  And  now  to  be 
caught  in  her  plain  little  gray  flannel  wrapper 
with  its  simple  red  trimmings,  her  hair  all  loose 
and  mussy,  and  even  her  very  oldest  slippers 
on, — and  with  Gerald  standing  beside  her  in  her 
rich,  dainty,  becoming  attire  as  if  to  make  the 
contrast  all  the  more  painfully  striking  !  Poor 
little  Cinderella  Phebe !  She  looked  up  at 
Denham  almost  ready  to  cry,  and  said  never  a 
word. 

"  It  has  been  such  a  long,  long  time!"  he  said, 
still  holding  her  hands.  "  I  do  not  know  how 
we  have  made  out  to  spare  you." 

"  We  shall  not  have  to  spare  her  much 
longer,"  said  Gerald.  "  She  is  coming  down 
stairs  to-morrow." 

And  then  Halloway  dropped  Phebe 's  hands, 
and  turning  to  Gerald,  held  out  a  hand  to  her. 


1 68  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Forgive  me  for  not  even  noticing  you,  Miss 
Vernor.  At  first  I  could  only  see  Miss  Phebe." 

"  Does  n't  Gerald  look  nice  ?  "  asked  Phebe, 
trying  to  choke  back  the  uncomfortable  lump 
rising  so  unreasonably  in  her  throat.  Halloway 
moved  back  a  little  and  looked  at  Gerald,  who 
stood  fastening  her  long  glove,  utterly  uncon 
scious  or  unheedful  of  his  scrutiny.  The  light 
in  the  niche  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  threw  its 
full  glow  over  both  her  and  Phebe. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  quietly,  after  an  imper 
ceptible  pause,  and,  as  he  turned  back  to  Phebe, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  his  eyes  glanced  over  her 
with  a  suddenly  awakened  consciousness  of  the 
wrapper  and  the  tumbled  hair  and  even  of  the  lit 
tle  worn-out  slippers.  "  You  look  pale,"  he  said, 
kindly.  "  I  know  I  am  wrong  to  keep  you 
standing  here  just  because  it  is  so  pleasant  to 
'see  you  again.  And  it  is  easier  to  say  good- 
by,  knowing  I  have  only  till  to-morrow  to 
wait  now.  A  demain" 

"  Good-night,"  murmured  Phebe,  without 
looking  up  ;  "  good-night,  Gerald."  And  then 
she  turned  quickly  into  her  room,  and  closed  the 
door,  and  stood  stock-still  behind  it,  holding  her 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES.      169 

breath  and  listening  intently  till  she  heard  the 
front  door  close  upon  them  and  the  last  echo  of 
their  footsteps  die  away  in  the  street  outside. 
Then  she  flung  herself  face  downward  upon  the 
bed  and  cried  miserably  to  herself  out  of  sheer 
disappointment.  Why  did  it  have  to  be  all  so 
very,  very  different  from  her  dream  ? 


CHAPTER   XL 

"MY   SON  DICK." 

NEVER  had  there  been  a  more  perfect 
night  than  that  whereon  Dick  Hard- 
castle's  coming  of  age  was  celebrated.  Only 
enough  wind  stirred  to  toy  softly  with  the  gay 
little  pennons  streaming  from  the  many  boats 
winding  their  way  to  the  rendezvous,  and  to 
throw  dancing  shadows  of  light  upon  the 
water  from  the  torches  at  their  prow.  All 
along  the  banks  of  the  lake,  where  high  hills 
shut  out  the  moonlight  and  bound  the  shore 
in  an  almost  Egyptian  darkness,  rafts  were 
stationed  at  intervals,  blazing  with  colored 
lights.  The  sound  of  distant  music  floated 
far  down  upon  the  air,  mingled  with  the 
swish  of  steady  oars  and  laughter  and  happy 
voices  as  the  occupants  of  the  various  boats 
called  out  merrily  to  each  other  across  the 
water,  or  here  and  there  broke  into  light-heart- 

170 


"MY  SON  DICK."  I/I 

ed  song.  Denham's  boat  glided  stilly  along 
through  all  this  carnival-like  revelry.  Gerald 
was  not  in  a  mood  for  talking,  and  he  felt  little 
inclined  to  disturb  her.  It  was  companionship 
enough  merely  to  glance  at  her  ever  and  anon 
as  she  sat  silently  in  the  stern,  the  red  ropes  of 
the  tiller  drawn  loosely  around  her  slender  waist 
like  a  silken  girdle.  He  wondered  idly  what 
she  was  thinking  of.  Her  broad  hat  threw  too 
deep  a  shadow  for  him  to  see  her  face  save 
when  they  neared  one  of  the  beacon  rafts  ;  then 
it  was  suddenly  in  brilliant  illumination,  and  it 
was  impossible  not  to  watch  for  these  mo 
ments  of  revelation,  which  lit  her  up  to  such 
rare  beauty.  He  fancied  he  could  almost  see 
her  thoughts  as  there  flashed  across  her  face 
some  new,  swift  expression  more  speaking  than 
words, — now  a  noble  thought,  he  was  sure  ;  now 
an  odd  fancy,  now  a  serious  meditative  mood, 
that  held  her  every  sense  and  faculty  in  thrall 
at  once.  Through  all  her  revery  she  never 
forgot  her  duty  with  the  rudder,  though  she 
quite  forgot  her  oarsman.  She  made  no  effort 
whatever  toward  his  entertainment,  and  he  felt 
sure  that  he  could  do  no  more  toward  hers  than 


1/2  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

simply  not  to  obtrude  himself  upon  her.  Were 
there  many,  he  wondered,  even  among  her 
chosen  friends  (in  whose  ranks  he  could  not  count 
himself),  who  would  have  enjoyed  this  silent  sail 
with  her  so  much  as  he  ?  They  neared  the 
destined  spot  all  too  soon  for  him,  and  Gerald 
at  last  roused  herself. 

"  Are  we  there  now  ?  I  had  no  idea  it  was 
so  far." 

"  It  is  not  far  enough,"  answered  Denham, 
resting  a  moment  on  his  oars  as  he  looked 
around.  "  Nothing  surely  can  be  devised,  even 
in  this  pleasure-ingenious  society,  so  enjoyable 
as  I  have  found  our  evening  sail." 

"  Why  do  you  go  to  the  party  at  all  then  ?  " 
asked  Gerald,  abruptly.  "  It  is  n't  compulsory, 
is  it  ?  After  you  land  me,  are  you  not  at  liberty 
to  row  off  if  you  prefer  ?  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  don't  prefer,"  Halloway  said 
gayly,  resuming  his  oars.  "  I  expect  to  be  very 
greatly  entertained  there  too.  There  is  almost 
always  something  to  be  got  out  of  every  thing, 
and  anyway  I  particularly  like  parties. 

"  I  hate  them." 

"  Yes,  because  you  do  not  care  for  people. 


"MY  SON  DICK."  173 

I  like  them  just  because  I  do  care  for  people, 
and  parties  are  but  people  collectively  instead 
of  individually,  you  know." 

By  this  time  Denham  had  shot  the  boat  up  to 
the  landing,  where  the  hosts  of  the  evening 
stood  ready  to  receive  them.  Dick  was  in  a 
wild  state  of  boyish  hilarity,  profiting  by  the 
novelty  of  his  exalted  position  as  hero  of  the 
evening,  boldly  to  take  a  kiss  from  every 
pretty  girl  in  succession  as  he  swung  her  to  the 
shore.  "  It  's  my  right,  to-night,  you  know, 
or  if  it  is  n't,  I  'm  major  now  and  can  make 
laws  for  myself,"  he  explained  complacently  to 
any  expostulatory  subject ;  and  Mr.  Hardcastle 
rubbed  his  soft,  plump  ha.nds,  and  added : 
"  Never  you  mind,  never  you  mind,  my  dear ; 
every  dog  must  have  his  day,  and  this  is  Dick's 
day.  And  after  all  it  's  my  son  Dick,  you 
know,  and  that  makes  it  all  right.  He  does  n't 
need  any  other  guaranty  than  that  he  's  my 
son,  I  'm  sure,  and  seeing  I  'm  Dick's  papa,  my 
dear,  why  I  '11  just  make  bold  to  follow  suit." 

But  Dick  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
offering  to  kiss  the  polar  star  as  Gerald,  and 
she  was  suffered  to  pass  on  unmolested  to  Mrs. 


1/4  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Hardcastle,  who  stood  just  beyond,  looking 
fagged  and  jaded,  and  as  if  she  were  heartily 
thankful  that  in  all  his  life  Dick  could  never 
come  of  age  again.  One  of  the  next  arrivals 
was  Bell  Masters,  very  fine  in  her  new  dress, 
but  flushed  and  overheated  to  an  unbecoming 
degree.  She  rowed  up  smartly,  shipped  her 
oars  in  true  nautical  fashion,  sprang  from  the 
boat,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  her  companion 
with  a  hardly  repressed  sneer  :  "  Pray  allow  me 
to  assist  you,  Mr.  De  Forest." 

That  gentleman  got  up  leisurely  from  his 
cushioned  seat  in  the  stern,  and  came  forward 
cool  and  comfortable  to  an  enviable  degree. 
"  Thanks,"  he  said,  with  even  a  little  more 
drawl  than  usual  as  he  took  her  proffered  hand. 
"  This  boat  is  a  little  teetery.  You  are  uncom 
monly  kind,  and  quite  a  champion  oarswoman." 

"  You  ought  to  be  a  judge  of  my  powers  by 
this  time  certainly,"  said  Bell,  snappishly.  She 
had  rowed  the  entire  distance  from  Joppa  un 
aided. 

"  Yes,  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am.  People 
can  always  judge  best  of  what  they  don't  do 
themselves.  And  I  will  say  that  you  do  row 


SON  DICK."  175 

well — uncommonly  well — for  a  woman.  I  don't 
know  a  girl,  except  Miss  Vernor,  fit  to  pull 
stroke  oar  to  you.  Ah,  Mr.  Hardcastle,  what 
an  adorable  evening  you  have  provided  for  us ! 
Mr.  Dick  Hardcastle,  permit  me  to  congratu 
late  you  upon  attaining  your  majority,  than 
which,  believe  me,  there  is  but  one  greater 
blessing  in  the  world — that,  of  minority.  I  see 
you  have  not  yet  abandoned  all  the  privileges 
of  the  latter,  however,"  he  added,  as  Dick 
caught  Bell  round  the  waist  and  gave  her  a 
sounding  salute  on  the  cheek.  "  That  is  an 
alleviation  it  seems  unfair  to  monopolize." 

Bell  laughed  and  boxed  Dick's  ears,  where 
upon  he  speedily  kissed  her  again,  and  Mr. 
Hardcastle  chuckled  and  pulled  one  of  the  long, 
light  braids  hanging  over  her  back.  Bell's 
blonde  hair,  with  her  black  eyes,  was  her 
strong  point,  and  she  invariably  dressed  it  a  la 
Kenwigs  when  she  wore  a  hat.  None  of  Miss 
Bell's  lights  ran  any  danger  of  ever  being  hid 
den  under  a  bushel. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Mr.  Hardcastle.  "  It  's 
all  right.  It  's  only  Dick,  you  know,  my  son 
Dick ;  and  bless  my  heart,  the  boy  's  good  taste 
too.  He  inherited  it." 


I?6  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Take  my  arm  or  let  me  take  yours,"  mut 
tered   De    Forest   to    Bell   as   Mr.    Hardcastle 
turned  away,  "  and  do  let  's  get  through  it  with 
his  good  lady.     Do   you  suppose  she  '11  kiss 

me  ?     Get  her  to  make  it  easy  for  me,  won't 

?» 
j~~. 

"  Where  now  ?  "  asked  Bell,  undecidedly, 
after  the  due  politenesses  with  the  hostess  had 
been  exchanged.  The  woods  were  fairly  ablaze 
with  bonfires  and  hanging  lanterns,  making  a 
strangely  brilliant  and  fantastic  scene.  Here 
and  there  rugs  were  spread  out  on  the  grass 
for  the  older  people  to  congregate  upon  in 
gossiping  groups,  while  the  young  ones  had 
speedily  converted  a  large,  smooth  spot  of  lawn 
into  an  impromptu  dancing-ground,  and  were 
whirling  merrily  away  to  the  music  of  the  band, 
in  the  very  face  of  the  scandalized  Mrs.  Upjohn. 
This  last  field  of  action  was  the  first  to  attract 
Bell's  quick  eye.  "  Oh,  come,"  she  said.  "  Of 
course  you  dance  ?  " 

De  Forest  gave  a  shudder.  "  My  dear  young 
lady  !  no  sane  man  ever  dances.  But  pray 
do  not  let  me  detain  you.  Where  your  heart 
is,  there  would  your  feet  be  also."  He  drop- 


"MY  SON  DICK."  177 

ped  her  arm  as  he  spoke.  Bell  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  put  her  arm  back  in  his. 

"  'T  is  n't  fair  to  abandon  you  so  soon  after 
bringing  you  here.  There  's  Janet  Mudge  " 
(hastily  selected  as  the  plainest  girl  present  and 
the  farthest  from  Gerald,  toward  whom  De 
Forest's  steps  were  manifestly  directing  them 
selves)  ;  "  let  's  go  and  speak  to  her." 

"  On  the  contrary,  let  us  avoid  her  by  every 
means  in  our  power,"  said  De  Forest,  imper- 
turbably,  walking  Bell  off  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion.  "  I  never  choose  pearls  when  I  may  have 
diamonds.  There  's  Miss  Vernor.  We  '11  go 
and  speak  with  her." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to,"  objected  Bell,  crossly. 
"  I  am  not  at  all  as  fond  of  Miss  Vernor  as  you 
are." 

"  Naturally  not,"  answered  De  Forest,  pur 
suing  his  way  undisturbed.  "  Men  always  like 
girls  better  than  girls  do.  I  appreciate  your 
feelings.  But  she  's  got  that  good-looking 
young  minister  with  her.  You  like  him.  All 
feminine  souls  incline  to  clergymen  next  to 
officers.  Buttons  first ;  then  surplices. 

"Thirdly,  For(r)esters,  I  suppose,"  suggested 
Bell,  saucily." 


1/8  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  assented  her  companion. 
"  Miss  Vernor,  your  humble  servant."  His 
glance,  as  it  invaribly  did  when  they  met,  seemed 
to  make  swift,  approbative  note  of  every  smallest 
particular  of  her  appearance.  "  Mr.  Hallo  way, 
here  is  a  young  lady  who  has  just  openly  in 
formed  me  that  she  prefers  you  to  me,  so  I  sup 
pose  I  must  resign  her  to  you  with  what  grace  I 
can.  Don't  you  think,  Miss  Vernor,  you  might 
try  to  divert  my  mind  from  dwelling  too  cruelly 
on  Miss  Masters'  defalcation  by  showing  me  what 
Mr.  Hardcastle's  grand  intellect  has  devised  for 
my  entertainment?  That  bonfire  yonder  has 
a  sort  of  cannibalistic  look  about  it  suggestive  of 
dancing  negroes  and  unmentionable  feasts  be 
hind  the  flames.  Shall  we  inspect  it  nearer  ?  " 
And  he  marched  Gerald  deliberately  away, 
scarcely  remembering  to  bow  to  Bell.  Still,  to  be 
left  with  Mr.  Halloway  was  by  no  means  an  un 
enviable  fate,  and  Bell,  like  the  wise  girl  she 
was,  proceeded  to  make  the  most  of  it  without 
delay,  and  paraded  her  prey  wherever  she 
chose,  finding  him  much  more  tractable  than 
her  last  companion,  and  not  in  the  least  dicta 
torial  as  to  the  direction  he  went  in. 


"MY  SON  DICK."  1/9 

That  out-door  evening  party  was  long 
remembered  as  one  of  the  most  novel  and 
successful  entertainments  ever  given  in  Joppa. 
Even  Mrs.  Upjohn  admitted  it  to  be  very  well, 
very  well  indeed,  all  but  the  dancing,  for  which, 
however,  Mr.  Hardcastle  apologized  to  her 
handsomely  as  a  quite  unexpected  ebullition  of 
youthful  spirits  which  in  his  soul  he  was  far  from 
countenancing,  and  upon  which  she  resolutely 
turned  her  back  all  the  evening,  so  at  least  not 
to  be  an  eye-witness  of  the  indecorum.  Of 
course,  therefore,  she  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  it  when  Mr.  Upjohn  toward  the  end  of  the 
evening,  actually  allowed  himself  to  be  decoyed 
into  the  gay  whirl  by  one  of  the  youngest  and 
most  daring  of  the  girls,  and  galloped  clumsily 
around  like  a  sportive  and  giddy  elephant  set 
free  for  the  first  time  in  its  native  jungle,  and 
finding  it  very  much  to  its  liking.  His  daughter 
Maria,  faithfully  at  her  mother's  side,  sat  with 
one  ear  grudgingly  lent  to  the  prosy  heaviness  of 
Mr.  Webb's  light  talk,  and  her  whole  face  turned 
longingly  toward  the  spot  where  the  happy  sin 
ners  were  gyrating,  and,  seeing  her  father  there, 
her  round  eyes  grew  rounder  than  ever,  as  she 


ISO  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

watched  in  breathless  alarm  lest  the  earth  should 
open  under  his  feet  in  instant  retribution.  Gra 
cious,  if  ma  should  turn  her  head !  But  there 
are  some  wrongs  it  is  best  to  ignore  altogether, 
where  prevention  is  hopeless,  and  Mrs.  Upjohn, 
like  many  another  good  woman,  always  knew 
when  not  to  see.  So  she  persistently  did  not 
see  now,  and  Mr.  Upjohn  spun  away  to  his 
heart's  content  (prudently  keeping  in  the  re 
motest  corner  of  the  sward,  to  be  sure),  winking 
at  Maria  every  now  and  then  in  the  highest 
glee,  and  once  absolutely  signing  to  her  to 
sneak  over  to  him  and  try  a  turn  too. 

And  then  came  supper-time,  and  such  a  sup 
per,  setting  all  confectioners  and  doctors  at  de 
fiance  at  once !  Mr.  Upjohn,  red  and  perspiring, 
and  remarking  how  curiously  hot  the  bonfires 
made  the  woods  at  night,  waited  on  his  wife  with 
gallant  solicitude,  lest  she  should  leave  a  single 
dish  untasted.  Mrs.  Bruce  had  left  town  the 
day  before,  and  in  the  absence  of  any  new  ad 
miration  he  always  fell  back  with  perfect  content 
upon  his  old  allegiance.  Mrs.  Upjohn  received 
his  devotion  as  calmly  as  his  intermittent  neg 
lects,  and  'only  raised  her  eyebrows  when  he 


"MY  SON  DICK."  l8l 

stooped  to  whisper,  "  My  love,  you  're  the  most 
handsomely  dressed  woman  here  !  "  which  was 
strictly  true  as  regarded  the  materials  of  her 
attire,  and  unblushingly  false  as  regarded  the 
blending  of  them.  Dick  had  been  in  his  element 
all  the  evening.  He  had  had  a  serio-comic  flirta 
tion  with  every  girl  in  turn.  He  had  cut  out 
Jake  Dexter  with  Nellie  Atterbury,  and  made  it 
up  to  his  friend  by  offering  him  a  lock  of  Bell's 
hair,  which  he  had  surreptitiously  cut  from  her 
hanging  braids,  and  which  Jake  wore  pinned  in 
his  button-hole  as  a  trophy  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  to  the  immense  scandal  of  everybody. 
But  with  the  supper-hour  Dick's  spirits  ebbed. 
He  knew,  poor  fellow,  what  fate  held  in  store. 
His  father  intended  making  a  few  remarks  over 
him,  as  a  sort  of  substitute  for  his  defrauded 
speech  to  the  non-existing  tenantry. 

"  Stand  by  me,  Jake,  there  's  a  man  !  "  whis 
pered  Dick,  forlornly,  to  his  crony. 

"  I  will,  Dick,  like  a  woman  !  "  Jake  responded, 
tenderly,  and  the  two  stood  together  just  at  Mr. 
Hardcastle's  elbow,  as  that  worthy  advanced  to 
a  central  spot  between  the  bonfires,  cleared  his 
throat  ominously,  and  pirouetted  solemnly 


1 82  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

around,  holding  up  his  hand  to  attract  general 
attention. 

"  My  friends,"  began  Mr.  Hardcastle,  swell 
ing  with  the  importance  of  the  moment  to  even 
more  than  his  usual  rotundity,  "  this  has  been  a 
day  of  days  to  me.  All  of  you  who  are  parents 
will  appreciate  my  feelings  of  mingled  pride  and' 
humility, — of  pride  and  humility,"  repeated  Mr. 
Hardcastle,  pleased  with  the  antithesis,  and 
swaying  gently  back*  and  forth,  "  as  I  stand 
here  before  you  with  my  son,  the  boy  whom  I 
have  watched  over  from  his  cradle  up  with  an 
unsleeping  eye,  and  whose  tender  feet " —  Dick 
here  stooped  over  to  inspect  those  honest,  able 
members.  Jake  did  the  same  with  evident  dis 
approval  of  them.  Mr.  Hardcastle  raised  his 
voice — "  whose  tender  feet  I  have  endeavored 
from  his  youth  up,  so  far  as  lay  in  my  limited 
power,  to  guide  in  the  way  that  I  hope  he 
may  never  depart  from.  This  boy  I  now  pre 
sent  to  you,  friends,  a  man, — this  boy  who  has 
grown  up  among  you,  whom  you  all  know,  and 
whom  I  hope  you  all  harbor  some  kindly  feeling 
for, — this  boy,"-  -  he  put  out  his  hand  to  draw 
him  forward,  Dick  gave  Jake  a  gentle  push 


"M  Y  SON  DICK. "  183 

toward  the  hand  and  vanished,  and  Mr.  Hard- 
castle,  quite  unconscious  of  the  manoeuvre,  drew 
the  grinning  Jake  solemnly  up  to  him,  and  cast 
ing  around  a  look  of  triumph  which  seemed  to 
say  :  Do  better  than  this,  friends,  if  you  can, 
placed  his  hand  on  Jake's  shoulder  with  his 
grandest  air,  and  continued,  sonorously, — "  my 
son,  ladies  and  gentlemen, — my  son  Dick." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  of  consternation 
among  the  guests  and  a  suppressed  scream  from 
the  defrauded  Mother  Dexter.  Mr.  Hard- 
castle  slowly  turned  his  radiant  face  toward  his 
supposed  son,  and  immediately  dropped  his 
hand  and  exclaimed,  in  entirely  altered  and 
most  natural  tones  of  amazement  :  "  Well,  I 
never  !  How  in  the  world  did  you  get  here, 
Jake  Dexter  ?  " 

A  shout  instantly  went  up  all  round  ;  even 
Mr.  Hardcastle  himself  was  overcome  with  the 
ludicrousness  of  the  mistake,  and  further  solem 
nity  being  impossible,  a  signal  was  given,  and 
from  a  barge  far  out  on  the  water  a  score  of 
rockets  shot  hissing  into  the  air,  announcing 
the  beginning  of  fireworks.  A  brilliant  display 
of  these  followed,  closing  the  evening's  entertain- 


1 84  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

ment,  and  immediately  afterward  a  large  raft  was 
towed  up  to  the  landing,  and  the  whole  merry 
party  embarked  and  returned  to  Joppa  together, 
the  band  following  on  another  boat  and  treating 
them  to  music  all  the  way.  Halloway  stood 
near  Gerald  in  the  crowd,  but  he  did  not  attempt 
to  join  her  until  the  raft  reached  the  pier  and 
was  made  fast.  Then  he  quietly  went  to  her 
and  offered  his  arm.  De  Forest  stepped  up  at 
the  same  moment.  "  Miss  Vernor,  will  you 
condescend  to  accept  of  my  valuable  escort 
home  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  Denham, 
"  I  am  Miss  Vernor's  escort  to-night." 

De  Forest  stood  still.  "  I  did  not  know  it 
was  a  return-ticket  arrangement." 

"  It  was,"  answered  Denham,  decidedly. 
"  You  can  hardly  expect  me  to  relinquish  my 
rights." 

"  I  should  say  your  rights  depended  wholly 
on  Miss  Vernor's  choice.  Fair  lady,  two  hearts 
and  four  arms  are  at  your  immediate  disposal. 
If  you  could  make  up  your  volatile  mind  to 
determine  between  them " 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  choice,"  said 


"  M  Y  SON  DICK. "  185 

Gerald,  quietly.  "I  accepted  Mr.  Halloway's 
escort  yesterday ;  so  good-night." 

"  You  leave  me  a  blighted  being,"  said  De 
Forest.  "  For  the  peace  of  my  soul,  let  me 
ascribe  your  decision  to  a  love  of  justice  rather 
than  of  individual.  Ait  revoir." 

Halloway  drew  Gerald's  hand  through  his 
arm  with  a  very  comfortable  feeling  of  posses 
sion,  and  they  walked  on  some  time  in  silence. 
"  Are  you  tired  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  No — yes.  Parties  always  tire  me,  and  life 
in  Joppa  consists  of  parties.  Do  you  always 
go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  always !" 

"  Your  mental  constitution  must  be  robust  to 
stand  such  a  steady  strain  upon  it." 

"  The  shepherd  must  keep  by  his  sheep,  you 
know,"  laughed  Denham. 

"  I  thought  the  shepherd  was  to  lead  the 
sheep,  not  to  be  led  by  them.  Don't  you  hope 
to  inspire  them  with  a  love  for  better  things  ? 
I  fancied  the  province  of  a  clergyman  was  to 
improve  people — not  just  to  preach  to  them." 

A  shadow  crossed  Denham's  face.  "  There 
are  many  of  them  more  fitted  to  improve  me 


1 86  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

than  I  them,"  he  said,  humbly.  "  How  would 
you  have  me  begin  ?  " 

"  With  making  Mr.  Hardcastle  less  offensively 
pompous,  and  Mrs.  Hardcastle  less  tedious,  and 
Mrs.  Upjohn  less  dogmatic,  and  Mrs.  Anthony 
more  sincere,  and  Miss  Delano  less  namby- 
pamby, — in  short,  by  taking  a  little  of  the 
superficiality  and  narrow-mindedness  and  pro 
vinciality  out  of  the  place  if  possible." 

Denham  tossed  back  his  head  with  a  light 
laugh.  "  Ah,  how  you  relieve  my  mind ! 
Most  of  those  whom  you  have  so  scathingly 
described  belong  to  other  congregations,  and 
are  therefore  beyond  my  jurisdiction." 

"  Do  you  really  feel  so  ?  Are  you  so  like  a 
physician  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  quickly.  "  Do  you 
seek  to  do  good  only  to  those  who  pay  for  the 
care  you  give  them  ?  Is  not  your  mission  with 
all  with  whom  you  are  thrown  ?  " 

"  The  days  of  single-handed  combat  against 
the  world  are  over,"  answered  Denham.  "  You 
cripple  a  man  by  giving  him  too  wide  a  field  of 
action." 

"  I  would  not  take  less  than  the  widest  were 
I  a  man !  "  exclaimed  Gerald,  proudly. 


"  M Y  SON  DICK. "  IS/ 

"  Would  you  be  a  clergyman  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  no  talent  for  writing.  I  could 
not  preach." 

"  Nay,  I  think  you  an  admirable  preacher," 
said  Denham,  gently,  without  the  faintest  tinge 
of  sarcasm  in  either  tone  or  look.  Gerald 
glanced  at  him  quickly  and  flushed  slightly. 

"  I  am  too  dogmatic  myself,"  she  said,  biting 
her  lip  and  turning  away  her  head.  "  I  should 
not  be  so  hard  on  Mrs.  Upjohn." 

"  You  do  not  intend  to  be  hard  on  any  one." 

"  But  to  be  just  is  to  seem  hard,"  said  Ger 
ald. 

"  It  is  a  divine  prerogative  to  know  just  how 
far  to  temper  justice  with  mercy,"  Denham  an 
swered.  "  I  suppose  none  of  us  can  hope  to 
attain  to  perfect  knowledge  ;  but  if  there  must 
be  error,  I  would  for  myself  rather  err  in  excess 
of  mercy  than  of  justice." 

"  In  other  words,  between  two  evils  you 
would  choose  the  least,"  Gerald  replied.  "That 
is  the  common  way  of  getting  out  of  the  diffi 
culty.  But  it  seems  to  me  like  compromising 
with  evil.  There  ought  to  be  always  some 
third,  wholly  right,  way  out  of  every  dilemma,  if 


1 88  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

only  one  sought  earnestly  enough."  She  spoke 
more  as  if  to  herself  than  to  him. 

"  Then  perhaps,"  said  Denham,  pleasantly, 
"  we  may  hope  that  you  will  in  time  light  upon 
the  very  kindliest  and  rightest  way  combined 
of  judging  not  only  abstract  subjects,  but  also 
the  not  altogether  unworthy  inhabitants  of  even 
this  little  place  of  Joppa." 

"  Oh,  Joppa !  "  cried  Gerald,  all  the  impatience 
instantly  coming  back  to  her  face  and  voice. 
As  instantly  too  she  frowned  in  self-conviction, 
and  turned  almost  contritely  to  Denham.  "  You 
see,  Mr.  Halloway,  I  shall  have  to  bring  my 
own  character  first  to  that  future  Day  of  Judg 
ment,  and  to  be  very  careful  that  I  do  not  err 
on  your  side, — in  being  too  merciful." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHY   DO   SUMMER   ROSES   FADE? 

A  FEW  more  days  slipped  by,  easily  and 
swiftly,  as  all  days  did  in  Joppa.  The 
famous  party  was  discussed  and  re-discussed 
down  to  its  minutest  details.  Mrs.  Hardcastle  re 
covered  from  her  subsequent  attack  of  neuralgia. 
Mr.  Hardcastle,  who  went  from  house  to  house, 
gathering  .compliments  as  an  assessor  levies 
taxes,  completed  the  round  of  the  village  and 
began  again.  Mrs.  Upjohn  asked  for  and  ob 
tained  the  recipe  of  a  certain  dish,  the  like  of 
which  had  never  before  been  seen  in  Joppa, 
and  the  Joppites  commended  her  boldness  in 
asking  and  condemned  Mrs.  Hardcastle's  weak 
ness  in  giving.  The  report  that  Mr.  Upjohn 
had  apostatized  from  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
disapproving  of  its  tenets  as  regarded  waltzing, 
was  duly  started,  denied,  violently  adopted,  and 
as  violently  exploded.  The  statements  that 

189 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Jake  Dexter  was  engaged  to  Nellie  Atterbury, 
that  Bell  Masters  had  offered  herself  to  Mr. 
Halloway  and  been  declined  with  thanks,  and 
that  Gerald's  hat  had  been  imported  from 
Paris  two  days  before,  were  also  duly  aired  and 
evaporated.  It  had,  moreover,  by  this  time 
become  a  town  fact,  that  it  was  Bell  Masters 
and  not  Janet  Mudge  whom  Halloway  had 
rowed  to  the  party,  and  that  he  had  walked 
home  with  Mrs.  Lane.  Miss  Brooks  over 
heard  him  taking  leave  of  her  at  her  door,  and 
fancied — but  was  not  sure — that  she  told  him 
to  change  his  boots  lest  his  feet  should  -be 
damp.  Everybody  had  also  found  out  beyond 
discussion  or  doubt  that  De  Forest  was  Gerald's 
escort  home  on  that  occasion,  but  that  the 
engagement  between  them  was  broken  off. 
It  was  definitely  known  that  he  had  said  he 
was  a  blighted  being,  and  should  shortly  take 
a  return  ticket  to  New  York.  Everybody  said 
it  was  a  shame,  when  they  were  so  manifestly 
cut  out  for  each  other.  In  fact,  every  thing 
had  been  found  out  about  every  thing.  The 
evening  had  been  talked  threadbare,  and,  alas, 
there  was  nothing  else  to  talk  about.  Phebe's 


WHY  DO  SUMMER   ROSES  FADE?  IQI 

reappearance  downstairs,  unscarred  and  bonnie 
as  ever,  was  become  an  old  story  long  since, 
and  Dr.  Dennis'  treatment  of  the  case  was  now 
admitted  to  have  been  the  very  best  possible 
next  to  what  Dr.  Harrison's  treatment  would 
have  been,  though  by  all  means,  it  was  decided, 
Dr.  Dennis  and  not  Dr.  Harrison  should  have 
been  called  in  when  Mr.  Brown,  the  grocer,  fell 
ill  of  a  fever.  Poor  Joppa  was  indeed  fairly 
talked  out.  It  had  to  settle  down  upon  the 
fever  and  Mr.  Brown  for  lack  of  any  thing  else. 
It  was  really  almost  a  godsend  when  Mrs. 
Brown  took  the  fever  too,  for  it  gave  Joppa 
just  twice  as  much  to  talk  about,  and  everybody 
said  it  was  somebody's  duty  to  see  that  the 
poor  souls  had  right  advice  in  the  matter. 
Jabez  Brown,  Jr.,  carried  on  the  business  in  his 
father's  stead,  and  measured  out  his  sugars  and 
teas  at  so  much  advice  the  pound,  and  did  a 
thriving  business,  but  the  poor  old  father  died 
all  the  same.  He  was  a  respectable,  honest 
man,  and  all  his  customers  attended  his  funeral 
in  the  most  neighborly  way  in  the  world,  with 
a  grim  look  upon  their  sympathetic  counte 
nances  of  "  I  told  you  so.  It  should  have  been 
Dr.  Dennis." 


192  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

Yes,  to  all  but  Phebe,  her  illness  and  long 
imprisonment  and  her  return  to  matter-of-fact 
life  downstairs,  was  a  tame-enough  story  now. 
But  to  her  it  was  as  the  opening  chapter  of  a 
new  history.  Life  seemed  changed  and  strange 
to  her  when  she  stepped  back  into  it,  and  took 
up  again  the  duties  and  labors  that  she  had  laid 
by  only  so  lately.  Had  she  dreamed  herself 
into  another  world,  or  why  was  it  so  hard  to 
put  herself  back  into  the  place  she  had  stepped 
out  of?  Everybody  about  her  was  the  same  ; 
nothing  had  really  changed  in  any  way,  and 
certainly  she  had  not.  Neither  had  Gerald. 
Neither  had  Mr.  Halloway.  What  had  she 
expected  ?  What  was  it  she  had  vaguely 
looked  forward  to  ?  What  was  it  that  was  so 
different  ? 

"  Pray,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  Denham 
asked  suddenly  one  day,  turning  to  her  with  his 
bright,  sweet  smile.  "  You  have  been  quiet  for 
very  long." 

"  So  have  you  been  quiet,"  returned  Phebe. 
"  I  do  not  think  I  have  been  any  less  talkative 
than  you." 

"  Perhaps   not,"   said   Denham.     "  We   are 


WHY  DO  SUMMER  ROSES  FADE?  193 

leaving  Soeur  Angelique  and  Miss  Vernor  to 
have  a  regular  tete-a-tete  of  it,  are  we  not  ? 
But  you  evade  my  question  in  a  very  unbecom 
ing  way,  Miss  Phebe.  Tell  me,  what  were  you 
thinking  of?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know,"  answered  Phebe,  slow 
ly.  "  But  I  think  I  was  wishing  for  impossi 
bilities, — for  things  that  can't  possibly  happen, 
just  because  it  would  be  so  nice  if  they  could." 

"  Ah,"  said  Hallo  way,  dreamily.  "  That  is  a 
very  bad  habit,  a  frightfully  unsatisfactory,  delu 
sive,  and,  indeed,  an  altogether  pernicious  habit, 
Miss  Phebe.  It  takes  the  taste  out  of  every 
thing  solid,  and  leaves  one  an  appetite  only  for 
indigestible  sweets.  I  must  correct  you  of  it. 
I  will.  Just  as  soon,  that  is,  as  I  have  broken 
myself  of  it.  Will  you  wait  till  I  have  taken 
myself  in  hand  ?  " 

They  were  together  sitting  in  a  little  recess  of 
the  rectory  parlor,  while  Mrs.  Whittridge  and 
Gerald  were  talking  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room.  Sceur  Angelique  had  invited  the  two 
girls  to  tea,  and  Halloway,  when  he  came  in 
from  his  study,  seated  himself  at  once  by  Phebe, 
though  after  his  warm  greeting  and  self-con- 


194  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

gratulations  upon  having  her  back  in  her  old 
haunts,  he  had  fallen  into  quite  an  unusual  silence. 
Phebe  was  looking  very  sweet  and  fresh  that 
afternoon.  All  the  care  that  she  had  meant  to 
devote  to  her  toilet  upon  the  occasion  of  her 
first  meeting  with  Halloway,  she  had  expended 
in  dressing  herself  for  this  visit  to  the  rectory. 
Never  had  her  shining  hair  been  braided  so 
glossily,  or  coaxed  into  waving  more  prettily 
about  her  forehead ;  never  had  the  simple 
etceteras  of  her  dress  been  more  studiously 
selected  and  more  carefully  put  together.  Look 
ing  in  the  glass  when  all  was  done,  she  had 
been  fain  to  confess  that  she  really  did  look 
nice  for  once,  though  she  reproached  herself 
immediately  afterward  in  severest  terms  for  the 
unpardonable  vanity  of  the  thought,  and  made 
a  little  grimace  at  her  own  image  to  effectually 
dispel  the  illusion.  What  could  it  ever  matter 
how  she  looked  ?  And  particularly  how  could 
it  matter  when  Gerald  was  by, — Gerald,  who 
possessed  that  rare  and  enviable  gift  of  always 
looking  her  best  ?  So  Phebe  put  the  subject  of 
her  looks  entirely  away  from  her  mind,  and 
leaned  back  on  the  sofa,  her  hands  folded  idly 


WHY  DO  SUMMEK  KOSES  FADE?  195 

in  her  lap,  feeling  perfectly  content  with  the 
passing  moment,  and  asking  nothing  from  the 
future  but  that  it  might  be  always  "  now."  What 
more  could  she  want  ?  The  room  held  her 
three  dearest  friends  in  the  world, — Gerald, 
Sceur  Angelique,  and  Mr.  Halloway; — of  course 
one  should  always  put  ladies  before  gentlemen 
even  only  in  thought.  How  handsome  Gerald 
looked  as  she  stood  with  her  head  slightly  bent 
forward,  listening  to  Mrs.  Whittridge.  If  Gerald 
did  not  choose  to  listen,  no  one  could  ever  force 
her  to  lend  an  ear.  But  when  she  did  so  choose, 
she  listened  with  her  whole  mind,  and  was  lost 
to  all  else.  Phebe  smiled  with  quiet  amuse 
ment  at  her  friend's  intensity  in  every  thing, 
and  turned  with  the  smile  on  her  face  to  Hal 
loway.  He  was  not  smiling  at  all,  but  he  too 
was  looking  fixedly  at  Gerald. 

"  It  has  been  lovely  having  her  here,  but  how 
we  shall  miss  her,  shall  we  not,  when  she  goes? " 
said  Phebe,  softly. 

"Goes?"  repeated  Halloway,  blankly.  "It  is 
scarcely  September  yet." 

"What,  have  you  not  heard?"  exclaimed 
Phebe."  "Do  you  not  know?  Gerald  has  been 


196  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

sent  for.    She  and  Oily  go  back  next  Thursday." 

"Thursday?"  echoed  Halloway,  in  a  sort  of 
stunned  way.  "So  soon?  Going  for  good? 
Thursday  ? " 

What  closely  guarded  secret  did  the  loving 
gray  eyes,  fastened  upon  him>  read  in  the  swift, 
uncontrollable  look  that  flashed  suddenly  across 
his  face,  like  the  lightning  that  leaps  out  of  the 
dark  by  night,  laying  all  earth  bare  in  one  brief, 
vivid  glimpse?  He  was  so  taken  by  surprise  as 
to  be  completely  off  guard.  It  was  but  an  in 
stant,  and  with  a  start  he  recovered  himself. 

"  I  had  not  heard  your  news,"  he  said,  with 
perfect  quiet,  reaching  out  to  the  table  for  an 
uncut  magazine,  and  proceeding  leisurely  to 
open  its  pages.  "  I  suppose  it  is  a  sign  that 
summer  is  over  when  the  birds  begin  to  fly 
home." 

Phebe  did  not  answer  immediately.  In  that 
one  short  moment,  all  her  face  had  changed  also. 
As  by  the  stroke  of  a  wand,  its  brightness  and 
sweet  content  had  given  place  to  an  expression 
of  unutterable  weariness.  She  got  up  and  went 
to  the  window,  standing  with  her  back  to  Hal 
loway. 


WHY  DO  SUMMER  ROSES  FADE? 

"  We  had  our  first  cold  night  that  evening  of 
my  accident";  she  said,  with  an  effort  to  speak 
very  calmly .  "  I  think  the  summer  really  ended 
then." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

JOPPA'S  TRIAL. 

IT  was  the  night  before  Gerald's  departure, 
and  a  number  of  people  strayed  into  Mrs. 
Lane's  parlor  to  bid  the  fair  traveller  god-speed. 
She  had  not  been  at  all  a  popular  guest,  but 
that  was  no  reason  why  Joppa  should  lack  in 
any  possible  courtesy  toward  her,  little  as  she 
appreciated  the  magnanimity  of  its  conduct. 

"Very  sorry  to  lose  you,  very,"  said  Mr. 
Hardcastle,  taking  her  hand  in  the  soft,  warm 
grasp  that  Gerald  so  particularly  detested.  "  But 
maybe  it 's  as  well  you  are  going.  Joppa  is  n't 
the  place  it  used  to  be.  Here 's  Mr.  Anthony 's 
got  the  fever  to-night,  and  there  's  a  poor  family- 
down  in  the  village  as  have  all  got  it,  Dennis 
says ;  and  I  noticed  that  little  Nellie  Atterbury 
had  monstrous  red  cheeks  when  Dick  and  I 
passed  her  to-night,  and  indeed  I  crossed  the 
street  to  avoid  her  in  case  she  might  be  going 

198 


JOPPA'S    TRIAL.  199 

to  have  the  fever  too.  Where  one  has  a  family 
one  has  duties  one  would  never  feel  for  one's  self. 
So  I  say,  my  dear,  it  's  as  well  you  Ye  going,  if 
only  on  account  of  that  boy  of  yours.  We  must 
all  learn  early  to  sacrifice  ourselves  for  our 
children." 

"  Oily  is  n't  my  child,"  said  Gerald,  twisting 
her  handkerchief  around  her  hand  to  efface  the 
remembrance  of  Mr.  Hardcastle's  touch. 

"  Hey  ?  Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure,  he 's  your  brother ; 
but  it  's  all  one.  You  stand  in  the  light  of  a 
parent  to  him  just  now,  my  dear."  He  was 
actually  going  to  pat  Gerald  paternally  on  the 
shoulder,  but  she  moved  abruptly  aside,  and  he 
pulled  Olly's  ear  instead.  It  was  necessary  to 
do  something  with  his  outstretched  hand  before 
drawing  it  back.  Oily  was  playing  cat's-cradle 
with  the  good-natured  Mr.  Upjohn,  and  merely 
kicked  out  at  his  caresser,  as  a  warning  that  he 
was  not  to  be  interrupted. 

"  Fine  spirited  boy,"  muttered  Mr.  Upjohn 
under  his  breath.  "  Very  fine.  Will  make  a 
man  some  day." 

"  Not  so  big  as  you,  though,  I  won't  be  when 
I  'm  a  man,"  declared  Oily.  "  You  're  too  fat." 


200  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  Now  just  hear  him !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Up 
john,  shaking  all  over  with  corpulent  mirth. 
"  Maybe  you  would  rather  be  like  Mr.  Webb 
then  ?  " 

"No,  I  would  n't  neither,"  retorted  Oily, 
nothing  deterred  by  that  gentleman's  presence 
from  a  frank  exposure  of  his  sentiments.  "  He 's 
too  lean.  He  's  leaner  than  any  thing.  He  's 
just  like  the  blade  of  .my  pocket-knife  with 
clothes  on.  Oh,  crickey !  " 

It  was  conveniently  discovered  at  this  crisis 
that  it  was  Olly's  bedtime,  and  he  was  with  some 
difficulty  conveyed  from  the  parlor,  followed  by 
an  angry  glare  from  Gerald  and  a  severely 
truthful  comment  from  Mrs.  Upjohn.  De 
Forest  outstayed  the  rest  of  the  leave-takers. 
Phebe  thought  it  hard,  when  she  so  wanted  to 
have  Gerald  all  to  herself  on  this  last  evening  ; 
and  she  wondered  too  that  Halloway  had  not 
come  to  say  good-by.  He  came  in,  however, 
at  last,  flushed  and  tired,  apologizing  for  the 
lateness  of  his  call,  saying  he  had  been  sent 
for  by  two  of  his  parishioners  who  were  also 
down  with  the  fever. 

"  It  looks  something  like  an  epidemic,"  re- 


JOPPA'S    TRIAL.  201 

marked  Gerald.  "  I  am  really  rather  glad  we 
are  going." 

"  You  have  no  ambition  to  remain  and  turn 
Florence  Nightingale  then?  "  asked  De  Forest. 

"  Not  in  the  slightest.  It  is  a  role  I  am 
eminently  unfitted  for.  I  detest  sick  people." 

"  Not  always,  I  think,  Gerald,"  said  Phebe, 
with  a  grateful  glance,  which  Gerald  returned 
with  one  of  real  though  undemonstrative  tender 
ness. 

"  Your  case  was  very  different,  Phebe." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  extremely  diffi 
cult  to  detest  Miss  Phebe  under  even  the  most 
aggravating  circumstances,"  said  Halloway, 
smiling  frankly  at  her.  "  Hallo,  who  is  this  ? " 

It  was  Oily,  bootless  and  coatless,  whom  the 
sound  of  Halloway 's  voice  had  brought  down 
from  the  midst  of  his  slow  preparations  for  bed, 
to  bid  his  friend  good-by,  and  who  sprang  upon 
him  with  a  rush  of  suffocating  affection. 

"What  would  Mrs.  Upjohn  say!"  drawled 
De  Forest. 

Gerald  rose  at  once  to  send  off  the  child  with 
a  reprimand,  and  remained  standing  after  he 
had  gone.  De  Forest  rose  too  and  slowly  came 
toward  her. 


202  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  I  suppose  I  had  better  leave  you  to  follow 
Oily  up-stairs.  I  wish  you  to  be  fresh  to  enter 
tain  me  during  to-morrow's  tedious  journey." 

"  What,  do  you  go  back  to-morrow  too  ?  " 
asked  Gerald,  in  surprise.  "  I  thought  you  were 
to  stay  till  next  week." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  the  fever,"  pronounced  De 
Forest  with  great  gravity,  his  handsome  eyes 
fastened  on  her  face.  "  I  am  running  away  from 
it.  I  don't  think  it  safe  to  stay  another  day  in 
the  place." 

Gerald  colored  a  little, — not  at  his  words,  but 
his  look.  "  Then  I  suppose  I  need  not  bid  you 
good-by,"  she  said,  turning  away.  She 
seemed  almost  embarrassed.  "  Good-night." 

"  Oh,  but  Gerald, — Mr.  Halloway,  you  must 
say  good-by  to  him  you  know,"  said  Phebe, 
distressed. 

"  Surely.  I  forgot,"  replied  Gerald,  with  un 
complimentary  sincerity.  She  turned  back,  the 
faint  shade  of  confusion  quite  disappearing. 
"  Good-by,  Mr.  Halloway.  I  wish  you  success 
in  finding  all  the  Nightingales  that  you  may 
require." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Denham,  shortly. 
"  Good-by." 


JOPPA'S    TRIAL.  203 

Phebe  glanced  up  at  him  quickly.  She 
noticed  a  shade  of  bitterness  in  his  voice  for  the 
first  time.  He  said  nothing  more,  and  dropped 
Gerald's  hand  almost  immediately.  De  Forest 
bent  forward  and  raised  it.  "Am  I  to  be 
defrauded  of  a  good-night,  Miss  Vernor,  simply 
because  it  is  not  my  good-by  ?  Au  revoir" 

It  seemed  to  Phebe  that  he  held  Gerald's 
hand  an  instant  longer  when  she  would  have 
withdrawn  it,  and  that  she  permitted  or  at  least 
did  not  resent  it,  and  before  releasing  it  he 
stooped  and  touched  her  fingers  lightly  with  his 
lips.  "  Au  revoir"  he  said  again. 

Halloway  turned  abruptly  to  Phebe.  "Good 
night."  He  spoke  almost  brusquely,  and  went 
directly  away,  without  offering  his  hand  or  look 
ing  at  any  of  them  again. 

Phebe  followed  Gerald  into  her  room  when 
the  two  girls  went  up-stairs,  and  sat  watching 
her  friend's  quick  movements  as  she  completed 
some  last  arrangements  for  the  journey.  It  was 
strangely  unlike  Phebe  notr  to  offer  to  help  her, 
but  somehow  Gerald  looked  so  strong  and  able 
and  self-sufficient,  and  she  herself  felt  so  tired 
and  weak  to-night. 


204  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

"  How  quiet  you  are !  "  said  Gerald,  folding  a 
soft  shawl  smoothly  over  the  top  of  a  tray. 
"  Have  n't  you  any  last  message  to  give  me  ? 
Is  n't  there  any  thing  you  would  like  me  to  do 
for  you  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  thank  you." 

"  You  are  sure  ?  Well,  now  I  am  through 
and  must  n't  keep  you  up  longer.  You  have  all 
been  exceedingly  kind,  Phebe,  both  to  myself 
and  that  troublesome  Oily.  I  appreciate  it, 
even  though  I  don't  say  as  much  about  it  as 
perhaps  some  would." 

"Have  you  really  enjoyed  it  here,  Gerald? 
Have  you  been  happy?  Will  you  miss  us  a 
little — just  a  little — when  you  are  gone  ?  " 

"  I  shall  miss  jj/0&,  child,  of  course.  You  con 
stitute  Joppa  to  me,  you  know.  And  indeed  I 
have  enjoyed  it  here  very  much,  and  it  has  done 
Oily  a  world  of  good.  Good-night,  dear." 

Phebe  had  her  arms  about  her  friend  at 
once,  clasping  her  close.  "  O  Gerald,  Gerald, 
I  think  it  is  almost  better  to  have  no  friends  at 
all,  it  is  so  hard — so  cruelly  hard — to  part  with 
them,  and — and  to  lose  them  !  O  Gerald  !  " 

"  Parting  with  them  is  n't  losing  them,  you 


JOPPA'S     TRIAL.  2O5 

foolish  sentimentalist,"  returned  Gerald,  gently 
unclasping  Phebe's  arms.  "  Now  go  to  bed. 
You  look  worn  out." 

"  Just  tell  me  once  first,  Gerald,  that  you  love 
me.  I  have  n't  many  to  love  me.  I  need  all 
your  love." 

"  Of  course  I  love  you,"  said  Gerald.  "  You 
know  it  without  my  saying  so.  And  don't  talk 
so  foolishly.  I  never  knew  a  girl  with  more 
friends.  Now  good-night." 

Phebe  kissed  her  very  quietly,  and  then 
crept  into  Olly's  room,  and  sat  down  on  his 
bed.  "  Oily,  dear,"  she  murmured,  "  are  you 
asleep  ?  " 

The  little  fellow  sprang  up  and  flung  his  arms 
closely  around  her  neck,  embracing  collar, 
rufHes,  and  ribbon  in  one  all-comprehensive  de 
struction. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  Do  you  love  me  ?  Do 
you  love  me  ?  "  whispered  Phebe,  half  laughing 
and  half  crying,  as  she  strained  him  to  her 
heart.  "  Oh,  Oily  dear,  I  do  want  some  one 
just  to  say  so  ! " 

'  I  do,  I  do,  I  do,  and  I  do!"  said  Oily, with  a 
bear's  hug  at  each  assertion.  "  Blest  if  I  don't. 


206  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

That  's  what  Mr.  Upjohn  said  when  I  asked 
him  if  he  did  n't  want  some  taffy.  '  Blest  if  I 
don't.'  I  guess  it  's  a  swear,  'cause  he  said  I 
must  n't  tell  Mrs.  Upjohn  he  said  so,  not  to  the 
longest  day  I  lived.  The  longest  day  won't 
come  now  till  next  year,  the  twenty-first  of 
June.  That's  the  longest  day,  ain't  it  ?  Mr. 
Halloway  taught  me  that.  My,  don't  he  know 
a  lot !  I  'm  going  to  be  like  him  when  I  'm  a 
man.  That 's  who  I  'm  going  to  be  like.  And 
I  'm  going  to  love  you  always.  He  loves  you 
too,  does  n't  he,  Pheeb  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,"  answered  Phebe,  still  laughing 
and  crying  together,  and  rocking  gently  back 
and  forth  with  the  boy  in  her  arms ;  "  he 
does  n't  at  all.  There  does  n't  any  body  really 
love  me,  I  think,  but  just  you.  But  vou  do, 
don't  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Bet  on  it! "  said  Oily,  with  forcible  vulgarity. 

"  God  bless  you,"  said  Phebe,  very  softly,  as 
she  put  the  boy  back  in  the  bed,  and  laid  her 
wet  cheek  on  his.  "  God  bless  you  now  and 
always." 

"  Forever  and  ever,  amen,"  whispered  Oily 
back,  with  an  impression  that  Phebe  was  saying 


JO  P PA'S    TRIAL.  207 

her  prayers  over  him.  "  And  oh,  I  say,  Pheeb, 
can't  you  let  us  have  some  of  that  jelly  cake 
with  raisins  in  it,  to  take  with  us  for  luncheon 
to-morrow?  " 

And  Phebe  promised  she  would,  and  laughed 
and  went  away  feeling,  somehow,  a  little  com 
forted. 

And  so  Gerald  and  Oily  and  De  Forest  all 
disappeared  from  the  scene  together,  and  shortly 
after  the  Dexters  went  to  Morocco  on  a  visit, 
and  the  Masters  adjourned  to  Bethany  to  do 
their  fall  shopping ;  and  there  were  whisperings 
around  that  something  was  wrong ;  there  was 
more  and  more  talk  of  the  fever ;  of  how  it  ought 
to  be  checked,  and  why  it  had  not  been  checked, 
and  what  would  be  the  dire  consequences  if  it 
were  not  checked.  The  summer  guests  all  slip 
ped  quietly  away,  leaving  Joppa  alone  to  its 
growing  trouble.  Every  day  brought  some  new 
case,  sometimes  a  death,  and  people  began  to 
look  suspiciously  at  each  other  in  the  streets  and 
to  avoid  each  other  on  the  flimsiest  pretexts. 
Miss  Lydia  cried  helplessly  in  her  room  and  said 
she  was  sure  she  should  take  it  and  die  of  it. 
Mr.  Hardcastle  found  he  was  too  busy  at  home 


208  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

to  have  time  for  neighborly  visits,  and  went 
around  the  block  rather  than  pass  a  door  where 
he  saw  the  doctor's  gig.  When  one  has  a  family, 
one  owes  it  duties  that  shbuld  not  be  neglected. 
Mrs.  Upjohn  declared  the  panic  to  be  ridiculous. 
She  should  n't  be  scared  away  by  a  red  flag,  like 
a  crow  from  a  cornfield.  There  had  never  been 
a  case  of  typhoid  known  in  Joppa,  and  places 
were  like  people,  they  never  broke  out  with  dis 
eases  that  were  not  already  in  their  constitu 
tions.  It  was  all  arrant  nonsense.  However, 
she  was  perfectly  willing  that  Maria  should  make 
that  proposed  visit  to  her  aunt  in  Boston  if  she 
liked,  and  it  was  quite  proper  that  Mr.  Upjohn, 
in  the  character  of  gallant  father,  should  escort 
her  there  ;  the  girl  could  n't  go  alone.  So  every 
day  saw  some  new  flight  from  the  village.  The 
doctors  began  to  look  overworked  and  very 
grave,  and  Mr.  Hardcastle  appeared  less  and 
less  outside  his  gates,  and  took  to  walking 
always  in  the  middle  of  the  streets,  whence  he 
could  wave  a  salutation  to  his  passing  friends 
without  stopping  to  speak  to  them.  Dick  said 
he  'd  like  to  see  the  fever  catch  him,  and  pur 
sued  the  rough  tenor  of  his  ways  fearlessly  as  of 


J  OP  PA'S    TRIAL.  209 

old,  though  he  assured  his  anxious  father  that  it 
was  wholly  because  Nellie  Atterbury  lived  in  the 
healthiest  quarter  of  the  town,  that  he  spent  so 
much  of  his  time  at  her  house.  There  was,  no 
use  denying  or  qualifying  it.  An  epidemic  of 
typhoid  fever  had  stolen  upon  Joppa  as  a  thief 
in  the  night,  and  there  was  no  knowing  what 
house  it  would  not  enter  next,  to  rob  it  of  its 
dearest  and  best. 

Through  all  this  .slowly  increasing  alarm, 
Phebe  Lane  had  been  living  as  in  a  dream.  It 
was  as  if  she  found  herself  back  in  that  old  life 
before  she  knew  Halloway,  when  people  bored 
her,  and  when  there  seemed  nothing  worth  doing 
or  worth  looking  forward  to,  though  the  days 
were  so  full  of  duties.  She  had  been  at  the 
rectory  but  once  since  Gerald  left,  and  that  was 
to  the  Bible-class,  and  when  Mrs.  Whittridge 
had  tried  to  detain  her  afterward,  she  had 
pleaded  some  pressing  business  at  home,  though 
chancing  to  look  out  of  her  window  a  little  later, 
Sceur  Angelique  was  almost  sure  that  through 
the  closed  shutters  in  Phebe's  room,  she  saw  a 
dim  shadow  of  the  girl's  head  laid  down  list 
lessly  on  her  folded  arms  on  the  sill.  But  when 


210  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT, 

the  epidemic  reached  its  height,  Phebe  seemed 
suddenly  to  awaken  from  her  languor  and  rouse 
herself  to  action.  Here  was  something  worth 
doing  at  last.  Once  more  her  soft,  sweet  whist 
ling  sounded  bird-like  through  the  house.  The 
spring  came  back  to  her  step,  the  brightness  to 
her  eyes,  and  more  than  the  old  tenderness  to 
her  voice,  as  she  went  from  one  shunned  sick 
room  to  another  like  a  living  sunbeam,  bringing 
the  freshness  of  a  May  morning  with  her,  and 
seeming  always  to  come  solely  for  her  own  pure 
pleasure.  And  when  poor  motherless  Janet 
Mudofe  was  struck  down  too  with  the  dreaded 

o 

disease,  and  had  no  one  but  servants  to  care  for 
her,  her  own  aunt,  who  lived  in  Joppa,  being 
afraid  to  so  much  as  go  to  the  house  to  ask  after 
her,  it  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  everybody 
that  Phebe  Lane,  who  had  no  cares  at  home 
and  no  one  really  dependent  upon  her,  should 
quietly  install  herself  as  Janet's  nurse.  It  was  a 
very  proper  and  natural  thing  for  Phebe  to  do, 
everybody  said,  and  thought  no  more  about  it. 
It  was  so  manifestly  a  duty  sent  direct  from 
Heaven,  labelled  "For  Phebe  Lane." 

"I    met  Dr.  Dennis  to-day," said  Halloway 


y OP  PA'S    TRIAL.  211 

one  afternoon,  coming  into  his  sister's  room  and 
throwing  himself  wearily  down  on  the  sofa. 
"  He  says  Janet  Mudge  is  better, — is  really  go 
ing  to  get  well." 

Soeur  Angelique  put  aside  her  work  and 
came  to  sit  by  the  sofa  and  stroke  her  boy's 
head.  If  the  doctors  were  overworked  and 
spent,  so  too  was  he.  The  hour  of  trial  had  not 
found  him  wanting.  His  unambitious,  simple 
spirit,  that  sought  no  wider  duty  than  merely  to 
fulfil  the  moment's  call  as  he  best  could,  met 
and  conquered  a  stress  of  work  that  would  have 
disheartened  many  a  bolder  hero,  He  never 
thought  of  it  in  the  light  of  duty  at  all.  There 
was  nothing  heroic  or  high-minded  about  it.  It 
was  simply  what  in  the  nature  of  things  he  was 
bound  to  do.  Wherever  he  was  wanted  he 
went,  and  because  where  he  went  he  brought 
such  sunny  cheer,  and  such  sympathetic  help, 
and  such  bright,  kindly  ways,  he  was  wanted 
everywhere  ;  not  only  those  of  his  own  parish, 
but  those  of  the  other  churches  too  came  to 
look  to  Mr.  Halloway  as  the  one  whose  visit 
helped  them  the  most  in  any  season  of  trial. 
Among  the  poor  he  was  held  a  ministering 


212  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

angel,  and  supplemented  by  Soeur  Angelique  as 
an  unseen  force,  often  proved  one  in  truth, 
while  his  bright  face  did  them  more  good,  they 
said,  than  a  power  of  sermons ;  and  no  one  ever 
thought  the  less  of  him  because  he  seemed  so 
much  more  the  friend  than  the  pastor,  and  did 
no  preaching  at  all. 

"  So  Janet  is  better,"  said  Sceur  Angelique, 
toying  caressingly  with  the  wavy  brown  hair 
tossed  over  his  forehead.  "  Now  I  hope  we 
shall  see  more  of  our  Phebe  again.  What  a 
little  heroine  she  is !  " 

"  A  perfectly  unconscious  one,"  answered 
Halloway,  lazily  submitting  himself  to  the  fond 
ling  hand.  "  She  thinks  it  the  most  matter-of- 
fact  thing  in  the  world  that  she  should  play  Sister 
of  Charity  to  other  people's  sick,  and  never  ex 
pect  so  much  as  a  thank-you  from  them." 

"  She  is  a  lovely  character,"  said  Mrs.  Whit- 
tridge,  warmly. 

"  She  is  indeed,"  assented  her  brother.  "  A 
rare  character.  She  is  one  in  a  thousand." 

"  I  cannot  but  compare  her  sometimes  with 
her  friend,  Gerald  Vernor,"  continued  Mrs. 
Whittridge.  "  And  despite  Miss  Vernor's 


JOPPA'S    TRIAL.  213 

beauty  and  her  power,  which  makes  itself  felt 
even  by  me,  still  it  is  always  to  Phebe's  advan 
tage." 

Halloway  got  up  and  began  slowly  pacing 
the  room,  with  an  odd  smile  upon  his  lips. 
"  Always  to  Phebe's  advantage,"  he  repeated. 
"  Yes,  she  is  by  far  the  more  amiable,  the  more 
unselfish,  the  more  lovable,  the  better  worth 
loving  of  the  two.  She  is  all  heart.  She  is 
brimming  over  with  affection,  and  must  speak 
it  or  die,  while  Gerald  is  colder  than  stone, — 
than  ice.  She  is  so  cold  she  burns.  She  re 
minds  one  of  stars  in  mid-winter,  of  icicles  in 
the  moonlight,  of  any  thing  eminently  frigid  and 
brilliant  and  remote.  I  daresay,  despite  all  her 
beauty  and  her  talent  and  even  with  her  wealth 
thrown  in,  she  will  have  comparatively  few 
lovers,  yet  those  few  will  be  truer  to  her  through 
all  her  coldness  and  her  disfavor  than  the  lovers 
of  many  a  sweeter  girl.  Did  I  say  Phebe 
was  one  inathousand  ?  Well  Miss  Vernor  is  one 
in  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine, — or  one  in  ten 
thousand, — I  don't  know  which." 

"  You  said  Phebe  was  the  better  worth  lov 
ing  of  the  two,"  said  Mrs.  Whitrtidge,  coming 


214  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with  him  and 
clasping  her  hands  over  his  arm.  "  I  used  to 
think, — I  fancied  you  cared  for  the  child, — that 
you  would  care  for  her." 

Denham  stood  still  and  faced  his  sister  very 
gravely.  "  I  was  growing  to  care  for  her,  Sceur 
Angelique,"  he  said.  "  I  believe  I  would  have 
loved  her  if, — if  Gerald  Vernor  had  not  come 
here  when  she  did." 

"Oh,  Denham!" 

"Yes,  Sceur  Angelique.  It  is  a  humiliating 
confession,  is  it  not,  that  one  has  wilfully  thrown 
away  something  that  perhaps  one  might  have 
had,  for  something  that  one  knows  one  can 
never  have  ?  It  is  sheerest  folly.  And  to  do 
it  with  one's  eyes  open  is  the  maddest  folly  of 
all.  Gerald  Vernor  is  as  indifferent  to  me  as  it 
is  possible  for  one  human  creature  to  be  to  an 
other.  I  hold  no  more  place  in  her  thoughts 
than  had  I  never  existed.  And  yet,  Sceur  An 
gelique,  I  am  fool  enough, — or  helpless  enough, 
— whichever  you  please,  to  love  her.  I  love 
her  not  for  what  she  is  to  me,  but  for  what  she 
is  in  herself,  for  what  she  really  is,  rather  than 
for  what  she  seems, — for  the  strength  and  the 


JOPPA'S    TRIAL.  215 

heroism  of  her  heart,  which  I  see  through  all  the 
glaring,  commonplace  faults,  which  she  is  at  no 
pains  to  hide.  Or  perhaps  I  only  love  her  be 
cause  it  was  meant  that  I  should.  Be  it  as  it 
may,  I  do  love  her,  and  as  passionately,  as  en 
tirely,  and  as  hopelessly  as  it  is  possible  for  man 
to  love." 

"O  Denham,  Denham,  my  boy!" 
Denham  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  his  sister's 
lips.  "  Now  we  have  had  a  sufficiency  of  heroics 
for  once,  indeed  for  always,"  he  said,  with  a 
wholly  altered  voice.  "  Life  has  enough  of 
solemnity  in  it  and  to  spare,  without  our  adding 
aught  to  it.  We  will  not  speak  of  this  again,  if 
you  please.  Folly  is  always  best  forgotten.  But 
Sceur  Angelique,  if  you  imagine  me  to  be  a 
blighted  being,  if  you  think  I  walk  the  floor  in 
the  dead  of  night,  tearing  my  hair  and  calling 
on  all  the  stars  to  witness  the  unearthly  gloom 
in  my  racked  bosom,  you  are  utterly  mistaken. 
I  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  not  blighted  at 
all.  My  damask  cheek  is  not  going  to  be  preyed 
upon,  nor  shall  I  take  to  an  excess  of  tobacco 
and  poetry.  I  have  made  a  mistake,  but  I  mean 
to  sing  over  it, — not  weep  over  it, — and  to  be- 


2l6  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

come  a  stronger  and  better  man,  if  possible,  for 
having  been  so  weak  a  one." 

"  And  Phebe  ?  "  said  Sceur  Angelique.  Great 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "I  hoped " 

Denham  placed  both  hands  on  his  sister's 
shoulders.  "  Sceur  Angelique,  you  must  bury 
those  hopes  in  the  grave.  Loving  Gerald  Ver- 
nor,  never,  now,  or  in  the  future,  shall  I  have 
one  word  of  love  for  any  other  woman.  But  for 
her,  I  should  have  come  perhaps  to  love  Phebe 
with  this  same  love;  perhaps, — who  knows? — 
Phebe  might  so  have  loved  me.  As  it  is — Sceur 
Angelique  you  know  what  I  am.  You  know  if 
I  am  likely  to  deceive  myself.  Gerald  Vernor 
has  changed  my  life  for  always.  What  might 
have  been,  now  can  never  be." 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  looking  full  at  her. 
It  was  wonderful  how  resolute  and  firm  and  yet 
brave  and  gentle  too  those  merry  brown  eyes  of 
his  could  become.  Sceur  Angelique  sighed  and 
shook  her  head  softly.  He  stooped  and  kissed 
her,  then  turned  away  saying :  "  Now  that  chap 
ter  has  been  read  through  to  the  end.  Woe  be 
to  him  who  turns  back  the  page !  And  it  is  time 
I  went  to  call  on  poor  Widow  Brown." 


JOPPA'S    TRIAL.  217 

Soeur  Angelique  stood  in  the  window  as  a 
moment  later  he  passed  by.  He  kissed  his  hand 
to  her  with  a  gay  smile  and  went  on.  But  she 
still  stood  there  with  the  tears  welling  and  well 
ing  in  her  eyes  till  they  fell  gently  over  upor 
her  cheeks.  She  did  not  heed  them,  she  was  so 
busy  with  her  thoughts.  "Poor  Phebe,"  she 
said  softly  to  herself.  "My  poor  little  Phebe! 
But  perhaps, — with  time— 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

PHEBE'S  GOOD-BY. 

WHEN  was  it  Phebe  first  fell  ill?  No 
one  knew.  Mr.  Hardcastle  had  kept 
cautiously  out  of  her  way  this  long  time  past, 
but  nobody  else  suspected  that  the  brilliant 
cheeks  and  eyes  which  shone  like  stars  were 
telltales  of  a  hidden  fire  burning  her  life  away. 
The  fever  was  abating  in  the  village.  The  doc 
tors  declared  the  epidemic  virtually  over,  and 
mutually  congratulated  each  other  upon  the 
success  of  their  measures.  Mr.  Hardcastle  re 
turned  to  the  sidewalks  ;  Mr.  Upjohn  brought 
back  Maria  ;  Miss  Lydia  said  death  had  spared 
her  this  once,  but  next  time  it  would  be  her 
turn  to  go  ;  Mrs.  Lane  said  she  need  n't  make 
her  will  yet  for  all  that ;  and  everybody  said 
how  very  much  worse  the  fever  would  have 
been  in  any  less  peculiarly  healthy  spot  than 
Joppa.  How  was  it  that  at  the  very  last,  when 

218 


P HEBE'S  GOOD-BY.  2IQ 

there  was  no  reason  at  all,  when  she  had  been 
apparently  so  perfectly  well  all  along,  Phebe 
Lane  should  suddenly  take  to  her  bed  ?  Not 
only  one  doctor  was  called  in,  but  both,  and 
when  they  saw  her  they  said  the  fever  had  been 
running  a  long  time  already,  and  then  they 
looked  very  grave  and  shook  their  heads.  She  did 
not  seem  so  ill.  Most  of  their  patients  had  had 
far  more  aggravated  symptoms  ;  yet  still  they 
shook  their  heads  as  they  looked  at  her,  and 
murmured  something  about  lack  of  vitality,  a 
general  giving  way,  a  complete  want  of  will 
power,  etc.  People  looked  at  each  other 
aghast.  Was  it  possible  that  little  Phebe  Lane 
was  really  going  to  die  ?  Nobody  really  be 
lieved  it  could  be,  excepting  only  Sceur  Angel- 
ique.  "  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling ! "  she 
cried  out  when  she  first  heard  of  it,  and  then 
she  instantly  went  over  and  installed  herself  in 
Phebe's  room.  And  there  she  sat  the  slow 
days  through,  waiting  and  waiting  with  a  break 
ing  heart.  Phebe  suffered  very  little.  She  lay 
generally  perfectly  still,  too  weak  to  move,  too 
weak  to  care  to  speak.  People  came  and  went 
noiselessly  below,  but  no  one  was  admitted  to 


220  ONL  Y  AH  INCIDENT. 


her  room  save  her  step-mother  and  Mrs.  Whit- 
tridge.  Mrs.  Lane  watched  her  with  growing 
anxiety.  The  fever  was  so  slight,  why  did  she 
not  rally  from  it?  How  was  it  credible  she 
could  fail  so  rapidly  and  so  causelessly  ?  And 
Mrs.  Whittridge  sat  by  with  despair  in  her 
heart. 

One  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  as  she  sat  so 
watching,  Phebe  suddenly  opened  her  eyes. 
"  Will  you  call  him,  please  ?  I  hear  him." 

"  Who  ?  Denham  ?  "  asked  Sceur  Angelique, 
with  quick  intuition.  A  finer  ear  than  hers  had 
caught  the  light  step  and  low  voice  in  the  nar 
row  hall  below. 

"  Yes,  Denham,"  said  Phebe,  softly.  "  Den- 
ham.  I  want  to  see  him." 

It  pleased  her  to  say  his  name  so.  She  said 
it  to  herself  over  and  over  beneath  her  breath, 
while  waiting  for  him  to  come.  It  was  but  a 
moment,  and  he  was  kneeling  by  the  bedside, 
holding  both  her  hands  in  his.  She  looked  up 
in  his  face  and  smiled,  and  said  his  name  again, 
lower  still. 

"  Denham." 

"  Yes,  Phebe  —  yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  too 
moved  to  say  more." 


PHEBE'S  GOOD-BY.  221 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say  good-by,"  she  con 
tinued,  her  eyes  full  of  a  love  unutterable  that 
not  even  the  shadow  of  coming  death  could 
wholly  darken.  "  Will  you  kiss  me  good-by 
please,  this  once,  good-by — for  always  ?  " 

A  faint,  soft  flush  crept  up  over  her  white 
face,  and  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  gently, 
as  one  would  kiss  the  Madonna  of  a  shrine. 

"  Phebe,"  he  whispered,  "  not  for  always  ; 
only  for  a  time,  dear — good-by." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  glad  smile  lighting  up 
all  her  sweet,  pure  face.  "  Only  for  a  time." 

And  then,  still  holding  her  hands  tightly 
clasped  in  his,  Denham  bent  down  his  head 
upon  them  and  prayed. 

The  sunset  came  and  faded,  and  the  twilight 
came  and  went,  giving  place  to  the  solemn 
stillness  of  the  enduring  night.  The  stars  shone 
clear  and  still.  Not  a  breath  stirred.  In  his 
study  Denham  knelt  alone,  praying  for  a  dear 
and  lovely  life,  praying  against  hope,  against 
"belief — against  all  but  faith.  He  did  not  know 
what  time  it  was — it  seemed  as  if  it  might  be 
morning — when  at  last  the  door  opened  and 
Sceur  Angelique  came  in.  He  got  up  and  stood 


222  ONLY  AM  INCIDENT. 

waiting,  too  agitated  to  speak.  What  news 
could  she  bring  him  but  the  one  ?  She  came 
slowly  up  to  him,  then  gave  a  little  gasp,  and 
flinging  her  arms  around  his  neck,  burst  into 
tears. 

"O  Denham,  Denham,  all  is  over!     Phebe  is 
dead !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ONLY   AN   INCIDENT. 

'"^HE  morning  sun  was  streaming  brilliantly 
J_  in  through  the  richly  curtained  windows 
of  a  handsome  New  York  dwelling.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  De  Forest  were  about  sitting  down  to 
breakfast,  which  waited  for  them  ready  served, 
and  which  indeed  had  been  so  waiting  for  some 
minutes.  The  butler  coughed  behind  his  hand 
as  a  discreet  reminder  of  his  presence,  and  so 
indirectly  of  the  cooling  dishes.  The  gentleman 
looked  up  from  his  easy-chair  by  the  fire  and 
yawned. 

"  My  dear,  I  've  been  up  so  long  I  think  it  's 
getting  bedtime  again." 

"  Just  one  moment,  Ogden,"  answered  the 
lady,  from  her  desk.  "  I  must  send  off  this 
note  by  the  first  mail." 

"  Any  thing  important  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  will  not  be  put  on  that  new  com- 
223 


224  ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 

mittee.     They  must  find  some  one  else.      My 
time  is  too  full." 

De  Forest  rose  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  looking  complacently  at  his  wife. 
"  What  an  odd  sensation  it  must  be — having 
one's  time  too  full !  It  's  an  experience  I  'm 
willing  always  to  delegate  to  some  one  else. 
Does  n't  it  feel  rather  like  too  tight  shoes  ?  " 

Gerald  laughed  as  she  passed  her  husband  to 
her  seat  at  the  table,  and  he  stood  still  watching 
her  as  she  began  pouring  coffee.  It  was  always 
a  pleasure  to  watch  her.  The  butler  drew  out 
the  gentleman's  chair  firmly.  It  was  time  his 
master  took  his  seat  with  his  lady.  There  was 
too  much  of  this  dilly-dallying.  De  Forest  came 
lazily  forward  and  seated  himself. 

"  Any  news  ?  "  asked  Gerald. 

"  None  whatever.  It  's  a  swindle  to  pay 
three  cents  for  the  Herald  in  such  monotonous 
times.  I  was  reduced  to  searching  in  your 
church  paper  to  see  if  by  any  chance  something 
new  had  gotten  lost  in  there." 

"  I  hope  you  found  it." 

"  I  did  n't.  Not  so  much  even  as  the  death  of 
some  one  I  knew  to  cheer  me.  There  would  have 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT.  22$ 

been  variety  at  least  in  that.  By  the  way,  though, 
I  did  see  a  familiar  name  among  the  personals, — 
just  a  notice  that  the  Rev.  Denham  Halloway 
had  accepted  a  call  to  some  church  or  other  in 
some  place  or  other.  He  was  quite  a  friend  of 
yours,  was  n't  he,  that  summer  before  we  were 
married,  when  we  were  all  in  that  odious  little 
Joppa  together  ?  How  bored  I  was  there  !  " 

"  Denham  Halloway,"  repeated  Gerald,  mus 
ingly.  "  Denham  Halloway.  Why,  I  don't 
believe  I  have  thought  of  him  since.  But  he 
was  never  any  especial  friend  of  mine,  you 
know." 

"  Ah,  there  was  somebody  else  who  managed 
to  engross  a  great  deal  of  your  time  and  most 
of  your  thoughts  that  summer,  was  there  not, 
my  dear,  while  nobody  but  myself  was  bold 
enough  to  suppose  that  any  impression  had 
been  made  on  that  frigid  heart  of  yours  ? 
Well,  I  was  perfectly  fair.  I  left  your  friend, 
Phebe,  for  Halloway." 

"  Poor  little  Phebe  !  "  said  Gerald,  with  soft 
ened  eyes.  "  How  long  ago  it  all  seems.  Poor 
dear  little  Phebe  !  I  have  never  wanted  to  hear 
of  Joppa  since  her  death.  I  feel  as  if  she  had 


226  ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 

given  her  life  for  it.  Yes  ;  I  don't  suppose  I 
have  thought  twice  of  Denham  Halloway 
since." 

Ah,  so  it  was !  That  brief  summer  meeting, 
which  had  had  so  potent  an  influence  on  the 
lives  of  those  other  two,  had  in  her  life  been 
only  an  incident 


THE    END. 


GOOD  FICTION  FOR  SUMMER  READING. 

THE  TRANS-ATLANTIC  SERIES 

Of  Select  English  and  Continental  Novels,  issued  in  authorized  American 
editions •,  handsomely  printed  in  square  i6mo,  and  selling  at  the  uniform 
prices,  in  paper  covers,  of  50  cents  ;  cloth  extra,  $1.00. 

1.  Captain  Fracasse.     By  TKEOPHILE  GAUTIER.      Translated  by 

E.  M.  BEAM. 

"  A  masterpiece  of  literary  art." — N.  Y.  Nation. 

2.  The  Amazon.     By  FRANZ  DINGLESTEDT.      Translated  by  JAMES 

MORGAN  HART. 

"  A  delightful  novel,  characterized  by  force  and  fire,  strong  dramatic  power,  and 
rare  skill  in  its  analysis  of  human  motives  and  character." — Philadelphia  Times. 

3-    Mother  Molly.     By  FRANCES  MARY  PEARD.     Illustrated. 

"  The  book  is  charming,  and,  more  than  this,  it  is  a  well-finished  historical  study  of 
stirring  times." — Philadelphia  Times. 

4.  The  Lost  Casket.     Translated  from  "  La  Main  Coupee  "  of  F.  DU 

BOISGOBEY,  by  S.  LEE. 

"  The  plot  is  admirably  conceived  and  carried  out,  the  incidents  and  situations 
dramatic,  and  the  portrayal  of  character  clever." — Home  Journal. 

5.  Mademoiselle  Bismarck.     By  HENRI  ROCHEFORT. 

"  It  is  thoroughly  readable  as  a  story,  and  is  full  of  clever  political  touches,  which 
are  doubtless  more  witty  than  just.  The  hero,  Talazac,  is  said  to  be  a  study  of 
Gambetta." 

6.  A  Romance  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.     By  WILLIAM  H. 

MALLOCK,  author  of  "  Is  Life  Worth  Living?"  etc. 

11  The  motive  is  admirable — the  influence  of  love  in  developing  the  religious  instinct 
in  two  lovers  and  purifying  the  character  ;  and  upon  this  idea  the  author  has  wrought 
with  remarkable  depth  of  insight  and  strength  of  delineation." — N.  Y,  Tribune. 

7.  The  Vicar's  People.     By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN. 

"  Bright  and  breezy  as  a  sunny  day  at  sea,  and  fresh  as  an  English  landscape." — 
Philadelphia  Times. 

8.  John  Barlow's  Ward.     By  a  new  writer. 

u  Belongs  to  a  school  of  fiction  which  originated  in  England  with  Charlotte  Bronte. 
.  .  .  The  heroine  is  a  lovely  piece  of  womanhood." — N.  Y.  Evening  Mail. 

9.  The  Golden  Tress.     By  F.  DU  BOISGOBEY,  author  of  "  The  Lost 

Casket,"  etc. 

"  Thoroughly  exciting.  .  .  .  The  work  of  a  most  fertile  and  ingenious  imagination." 
— Pittsburg  Telegraph. 


See  also  list  of  the  Knickerbocker  Series  of  American  Novels. 
:  above  are  for  sale  at  the  R.  R.  stations,  on  the  cars,  and  by  all 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  Publishers,  New  York. 


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